


Paper Hearts

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: April, in many ways, is a typical 22-year-old. She lives in Cambridge, studies business at Harvard, and spends most of her paycheck at Anthropologie. With her, what you see is what you get... at least, that’s what she’d like you to think.Jackson plays lead guitar in his band, Half Alive. He and his bandmates have seen small-time success, headlining bars and small clubs. He prides himself in being a womanizer and insists he’ll never settle down; he knows for certain no girl is worth it.But everything changes when April and Jackson meet... and continue to run into each other. The circumstances turn from happenstance into something much less innocent, and the two discover parts of each other that turn their thrilling connection into something very, very complicated.
Relationships: Jackson Avery/April Kepner
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> aw shit... here we go again....

**APRIL**

I’ve been studying for my business ethics class for hours. I haven’t taken any breaks, not even for Twitter, and I still don’t understand half of what’s going on. This is a problem not only because I have an exam tomorrow but because, as a business major, these are things I really should understand. 

I sigh deeply and flip through my textbook, trying to find a bit of information that I can latch onto. Back when I started, I didn’t think business would be that difficult of a major. But I guess, at Harvard, everything is difficult. 

I massage my temples and close my eyes for a minute, but I’m disrupted by the sound of my phone ringing with an incoming FaceTime call. When I open my eyes, I see it’s one of my two best friends - Stephanie. 

I glance at the clock, wondering if I should take the call. It’s 6:32pm, and I still have four more chapters to get through. Knowing me and Steph, we might end up talking for hours, so I let her go to voicemail. 

That method doesn’t work, though. I didn’t have much faith in it, anyway. Because all she does is call again - and she won’t stop. She’s relentless like that. I might as well just pick up. My brain could use a break, anyway. 

The screen comes to life with not only Steph’s face, but the face of my other best friend, Izzie, right beside her. “Hey guys,” I say, lackluster with my cheek resting in my palm. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” Izzie says. 

“Why’d you send me to voicemail? Whore!” Steph says, laughing.

I hold up the notebook that’s in front of me, covered in notes with lines highlighted in a myriad of different colors. “I’m studying,” I say. 

“Ugh, boring,” Izzie says. “For what?” 

“Business ethics,” I say. “Test tomorrow, bright and early.” I let my head fall into both hands and my hair forms a curtain in front of my face. “I hate my life.” 

“Come out with us, then,” Izzie says. 

“I can’t,” I say.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Izzie says. “We’re going to Beat Brew Hall.”

“We’re gonna go hear this band play,” Steph cuts in. “Iz has the hots for the bass guitarist.” 

“ _ No _ ,” Izzie said. “I heard the band’s really good.” She pauses. “And he’s super hot. So what?” 

I giggle softly and shake my head. “I can’t,” I say. “I have too much to do. I only have a B in this class, and-” 

“Wait, did you just say you have a B?” Izzie asks. “That’s above average! Honey, you’re fine.” 

“You haven’t met my dad,” I say, doodling on the margins of my notebook as I speak. “I really can’t afford to get anything less than an A- on this exam.” 

“You’ll do great on it, you always do,” Steph says. “It’s been proven that live music breaks are good for the brain. If you’ve been studying all day, you probably aren’t even retaining the information anymore at this point.” 

“Live music breaks, huh?” I say with a smile. 

“Well, the last part is definitely legit,” she says. 

“Guys,” I say, sighing. “I really wish I could. But I just…” 

Interrupting my sentence, I hear the doorbell ring. Together, Steph and Izzie’s eyes light up. “Come get the door,” Izzie says. 

“Surprise!” Steph follows up. “Let us in!” 

I hang up the phone and rise to my feet, groaning the whole way. Steph is probably right - my brain is fried and I don’t know if it’s soaking up much of anything anymore. But I feel like I should at least try to stay here and study tonight. It’s a Sunday - not a great night to go out and listen to a band I’ve never heard of play at a noisy bar. Especially not when I have a test tomorrow. 

I leave my room and find my roommate, Amelia, heading to the door as well. “It’s for me,” I say. “Steph and Iz.” 

“Oh,” she says. “I thought you were studying.” 

“Yeah. Me, too,” I say, then open the door. “Hey.” 

“Hey!” they sing, arms open wide to hug me like we didn’t just see each other on Friday. 

I notice that Amelia’s school things are out on the coffee table, so I usher the girls into my room to give her some peace and quiet. “Nerd alert,” Izzie says under her breath, referencing my roommate. 

“Come on. I was studying too,” I say. “It’s Sunday.” 

“Nerd alert, times two,” Izzie says, which makes us both laugh. 

“Okay, we need to get you cute,” Steph says, rifling through my closet. “You know I think you look adorable in anything, but the loungewear look will not fly tonight. If this guy is as hot as Isobel here says, then he better have some hot ass friends.” 

“Guys,” I say, flopping onto my bed with my arms spread wide. “I really shouldn’t go.” 

“We’ll get you home early enough to keep studying, alright? How’s that for a compromise?” Steph asks. “It’s not even 7 yet. We’ll get you back here by 10 - 10:30 at the very latest. Sound good, grandma?” 

“That’s grandmother to you,” I grumble, sitting up to see what clothes she’s pulling out. “And fine. But no later than 10:30.” 

…

When we get to the bar, there’s already a band playing as Steph orders us drinks. Me and Izzie find a high-top table and sit facing the stage - luckily, we have a pretty good view. 

“So, what’s this super-hot guy’s band like?” I ask. “And how did you hear about him?”

“Insta,” she says. “Then I did some Facebook stalking. His name is Alex, and he’s been playing the bass for his whole life, basically. He’s  _ so _ cute, April. Wait ‘til you see him.” She points at me. “And I’m sure he has some hot bandmates.” 

“I’m not worried about that,” I say. “At all.” 

“Maybe you should be,” she says, taking a sip of the drink that Steph arrived with. 

“Maybe she should be what?” 

“Worried about getting laid,” Izzie says, the straw still between her teeth. 

“Excuse you. I get laid regularly,” I say defiantly. 

“Once a week,” Steph says. “I saw it written on her calendar once. Friday nights. So, I guess she is freshly fucked.” 

“April,” Izzie says, holding back laughter. “Do you seriously plan out when you have sex?” 

“I have a busy schedule!” I say, smacking them both. “Leave me alone. I don’t tell you how to live your lives.” 

“I’ll get out my planner, and maybe you could start,” Izzie says, and I can’t help but laugh. 

“I hate you both,” I say, sipping the rum and coke that Steph ordered - she knows what I like. 

To put an end to my grumbling, the MC comes out and announces the next band - Half Alive. 

“OMG, shut up,” Izzie says. “They’re coming!” 

“We weren’t even talking,” I say. 

“Shut up!” 

We watch the band, Half Alive, take the small stage, and I resist saying something quippy about their stupid name. It’s obvious that Izzie is having a good time listening to the music they’re playing, even if it’s not quite my style. I like seeing my friends happy, and I guess I’m glad I came out tonight. It’s a nice breather. And a little alcohol never hurts when it comes to calming my nerves for a test. 

“Aren’t they good?” Izzie asks, leaning over to me during their third or fourth song. 

I nod enthusiastically, taking a long sip of my drink. 

“Right? Alex invited us backstage after they’re done.” 

My eyes widen and my brows come together as I turn to look at her. “Wait, what? No,” I say. “You said 10:30.” 

“It’s barely even 10!” she says. “It’ll just be for a second.” 

“Alex wants  _ you _ to come backstage. Me and Steph don’t need to tag along.” 

“Um, yes you do,” she says. “I can’t go by myself! I’ll freak out. Please.” She presses her hands together in a prayer position. “I’m literally begging you. I won’t force you to come out with us for six whole months if you do this one thing for me.” 

I groan and roll my eyes lightly. “Fine,” I say. “But only for a second. I  _ have _ to get home, Iz.” 

“I know, I know,” she says. “Thank you! You’re the best.” 

After the band finishes their set, Izzie wrangles me and Steph and shows us the way backstage. It isn’t so much an official backstage as it is a storage area, but I keep my mouth shut. 

“There they are,” Izzie says, jittering beside me. 

“Chill, Iz,” Steph says. “They’re just people.” 

“Sure, sure, whatever,” she says, then clears her throat. “Um… hey, Alex. It’s Izzie. From Instagram?” 

A smooth smile finds its way onto Alex’s face as he lights up with recognition. “Hey,” he says, then pulls her into a one-armed side hug. “You made it.” 

“Told you I would,” she says. “You guys were awesome.”

“Thanks,” Alex says. “Here, let me introduce you to the rest of the band.” 

While Izzie and Steph pretend not to freak out over this barely-famous band, I hang off to the side and check my phone. It’s 10:30 already, which makes me sigh. I don’t say anything aloud, though. I’m not that much of a killjoy. 

I let myself scroll through Twitter - something I didn’t get to do earlier - and get lost in the timeline, laughing to myself once in a while. 

“Too cool for us, huh?” a voice says, and my head snaps up from my phone. “Whoa, sorry,” he says, whoever this is. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“You didn’t,” I say, slipping my phone back into my purse. 

“Alright,” he says, half smiling. “Someone on your phone must be pretty damn funny.” 

I shrug a little. “Just Twitter,” I say. 

He nods and eyes me, sizing me up or checking me out - I can’t tell. “I’m Jackson,” he says. 

“April.” 

“April showers,” he says. “Let me guess… spring birthday?” 

“April 23rd,” I say. “My parents weren’t very original.” 

He laughs and gestures towards a leather couch. “Wanna sit? Looks like your friends are gonna keep you waiting for a bit.” 

I glance over to Izzie and Steph who are both deep in - seemingly flirty - conversation with two of Jackson’s bandmates. I sigh, give in, and say, “Sure.” 

We sit next to each other, but not too close. He smells like sweat and cologne, and the two scents mix together to form something that’s too intoxicating to go unnoticed. 

“So, what’d you think of the show?” he asks. 

“It was good,” I answer, but it comes out too quickly. 

He chuckles. “Not your type of music, huh?” 

“No, it’s not that…” I trail off. 

“Oh, we just suck then?” he says, grinning. 

I can’t help but return the smile, tucking my hair behind one ear. “You don’t suck,” I say, cheeks heating up. “You were really good. How long have you been playing guitar?” 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says. “You really didn’t like the show, huh? Damn. I’m about to cry in the shower later.” He covers his eyes with one hand and pretends to be emotional, and I laugh. 

“No, no, I liked it!” I say, reaching to pull his hand down. As soon as our fingers touch, my whole body jolts. And with the way that his eyes instantly meet mine, I have a feeling I’m not alone in that. 

I try to take my hand back, but he holds on - just for a second - swiping his thumb over my knuckles. I let him, and I like it. 

“You were good, I swear,” I say, my hand in my lap once again. “It’s just not the music that I normally listen to.” 

“And what do you normally listen to?” he asks. “Taylor Swift?” 

“Hey,” I say. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” I pause for a moment, smirking. Then, I say, “Yes. I’ve loved her since 2006 and I’ll never stop.” 

“Oh, damn,” he says, dramatically throwing his head back. “I’ve gotta compete with T. Swift now. I’ll never win this one.” 

I giggle, blushing again as we turn to face each other on the couch. After he picks his head up, we lock eyes and stay there for a moment, not saying anything. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable, though. If anything, it’s hot. 

“So… yeah,” I say. “I’ve loved her since I was 8 years old. And I’m 22 now, so… that’s over half my life.” 

“That’s dedication,” he says. “So, if you’re 22… does that mean you go to school around here?”

I’m proud of my school, but whenever someone asks me where I go, I always find myself harboring a deep sense of embarrassment. It feels like I’m bragging when I say it aloud. But it’s not like I can lie about it - we’re at a bar in Cambridge. He probably already knows, or at least assumed. 

“Yeah,” I say. 

“Harvard girl, huh?” he asks, eyebrows up. 

“Is there something wrong with that?” 

He shakes his head. “For you, no,” he says. 

“Just for me?” I ask, smiling. “What about the other Harvard girls?”

“Take or leave ‘em,” he says, eyes drifting over my face until they dart to my chest, then dart back up again. Surprising myself, I don’t mind that he looked. I’m wearing a low-cut black top that puts what little cleavage I have on display, so at least it’s doing its job. “I got a thing for the brunette ones, though.” 

For a second, I’m confused. Then, I realize he’s still talking about me because my hair is brown. Still, sometimes, I forget. 

“Well, joke’s on you,” I say, tossing my hair over my shoulder to leave one side of my neck bare. His eyes land on it and don’t move. “Brunette isn’t my natural hair color.” 

“No way,” he says. 

“Uh-huh,” I say. “I dyed it last month. Just to experience something new, I guess. I’m actually a redhead.” 

“Tell me these curls are natural,” he says. “Curly-headed girls...mmm.”

“They are,” I say, unable to contain my smirk. There’s a ball of heat in my gut that’s making its way lower, no matter how much I try and cool it down. His eyes, every time they land on my skin, singe. “You have a thing for curly hair?” 

“I might,” he says, eyeing mine. 

“You can touch, if you want,” I say. My heart is hammering against my chest plate, and I wonder if he can tell. It only speeds up when his fingers graze my clavicle on the way to touch a perfect curl, pulling it gently and watching it reform its original shape. 

“They bounce right back,” he says, pulling on a different curl before tucking it behind my ear and removing his hands. I’d be surprised if my chest weren’t red and exuding heat right now - I feel like I’m about to explode. 

“So…” I say, clearing my throat to try and clear my head. “How long have you been playing guitar?” He never answered my question earlier, and he  _ is _ the lead guitarist. “I always wanted to try, but I never did it. It seems so hard.” 

“Nah, it’s easy,” he says. “All it is is a few notes. You just have to know how to put them together.” 

I tilt my head to one side, studying his face. “I like that,” I say. 

“I’ve been playing since I was a kid. Maybe 8 or 9, somewhere around there.” He swipes a hand through his hair. “It makes me look a lot cooler than I actually am.” 

I lean against the couch and keep my eyes on him. “What do you mean?” I say. “You’re cool.” 

“You think so?” 

I nod, pressing my lips together to calm my smile. “Yeah, I do,” I say. 

“I’m gonna run with that, then,” he says. 

“I mean, you play electric guitar and you’re in a band,” I say. “What’s cooler than that?” 

“I don’t know, Harvard girl,” he says. “You tell me.” 

I snort. “I’m a business major. I wouldn’t know cool if it hit me on the head.” 

“A business major, huh?” he asks, eyes roaming my face. “I would’ve never guessed.” 

“Yeah, well,” I say, eyebrows up as I avert my gaze. 

“I don’t usually get business majors at my shows,” he tells me. 

“ _ Your _ shows?” I echo. “I thought you were part of a band.” 

His eyes flit to the group on the other side of the room, then back to me. “Everyone knows I’m the one audiences show up for,” he says. 

I laugh, letting my shoulders bounce. “You’ve got a big head,” I say. 

“So I’ve been told,” he says, voice low. 

Our eyes meet and I know he’s trying to make some sort of innuendo, one that makes my mind go to a place it really shouldn’t be. My face flushes and my chest gets warm again, and for a second time, I find his eyes resting there. It only makes my skin glow hotter. 

“Yo, Jackson,” one of his bandmates says. “We gotta go.” 

Jackson gives his friend a curt nod, then turns back to me. “Closing time,” he says. 

“Wait,” I say, surprising myself. “Do you play here often? Are you staying in Cambridge?” 

He shoots me a grin and a sly expression. “Questions, questions,” he says. “We’ll probably be here again. Not sure when.” 

I try to play it cool. “Alright,” I say, leaning back and waiting for him to get up and leave. 

“You gonna come see me?” 

I shrug one shoulder. “Maybe,” I say. 

“Now you wanna play coy,” he says, then takes my hand. 

I can’t ignore the chills that run up and down my spine as he holds my palm gently in his own. Though his fingers are calloused from playing guitar, his grip is strong and dry. He pulls out a marker from his back pocket and takes off the lid with his teeth, holding it there as he writes a number on the top of my hand, right under my knuckles. 

“Call me,” he says. “I wanna see those curls again.” 

I tuck one behind my ear and glance at his spiky, all-caps handwriting. “Maybe I will,” I say, uncrossing my legs and standing up as he does. “Maybe I won’t.” 

“Nah,” he says. “You will.” 

…

“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” Steph says as we’re on the sidewalk, walking home. “I kept looking over at you and that guy - what was his name?” 

“Jackson,” I say.

“I kept looking over at you and Jackson and seriously thought you were about to fuck right there on that couch. It was that intense. Like… holy  _ shit _ , April. He’s so into you.” 

“Psh, no,” I say, waving my hand. “I’m sure he acts like that with every girl who comes backstage.” 

“He didn’t act like that with us,” Izzie points out.

“Well, you guys were talking to other people!” I say. “He’s just a flirt.”

“A flirt who you have the hottest of hots for,” Izzie says. 

“No,” I say, but my rebuttal isn’t very strong. We all know it doesn’t hold much weight. 

“I can’t blame you at all. Did you  _ see _ his biceps?” Steph says.

“His biceps? What about his fingers? I was thinking about them doing something a little different than playing guitar.”

“Izzie!” I say.

“What? He’s gotta know how to work those things. I’m sure he’s multitalented.” 

“Oh, my god.”

“Tell me I’m wrong, April! Tell me I’m wrong!” 

I burst out laughing, head thrown back and everything. “Okay, okay. I can’t. You’re definitely right. God, he  _ was _ sexy.” 

I lift my hand to brush some hair away from my face, and Steph notices the number scrawled on the back of it. I watch as her eyes catch it, then we make eye contact. I know exactly what she’s thinking, because I’m thinking it, too. I have been all night. 

“So, what does this mean for…?” 

I cut her off. “Nothing,” I say. “It means nothing. Nothing is  _ ever _ gonna happen between me and Jackson.”

I take a long look at my hand, at the numbers that he’d written less than an hour before while holding my hand so gently in that strong grip. I know what I have to do, so I do it. I wet the fingers of my opposite hand and run them over the marker, smearing the phone number past the point of recognition. 

Then, I say, “I’ll probably never see him again, anyway.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**APRIL**

By the time I open the front door, it’s almost midnight and there’s no way I’m going to pick up where I left off with studying. I look over my shoulder to give Izzie and Steph a half-wave, then head inside with a smile still on my face. 

As I shut the door and turn around, I’m met with the sight of Amelia and her brother, Derek, sitting in the living room - Amelia is on the couch and Derek is in an armchair, the black one that I usually take. 

“Oh, hey guys,” I say, hanging my purse on a hook as I step out of my ankle boots. “You scared me.” I raise my eyebrows as I look between them both. “You weren’t waiting up for me, were you?” 

“No,” Amelia says. “Not that creepy.” 

“Okay, good,” I say, laughing uncomfortably. 

“I just got a little worried because I thought you’d be back by 10:30,” she says. “And it’s way past then.” 

“Oh… yeah,” I say. “Well, I’m home now. We just got caught up at the bar. You know how the girls get.” 

“I guess. It’s still Sunday night, though,” Amelia comments. 

“She probably got all her studying done this morning,” Derek says, standing up to saunter over to me. “You’re gonna ace it.” 

“Not so sure about that,” I say, feeling the weight of his arm across the back of my shoulders as he wraps it around me. He kisses my temple and I hold his opposite hand with clammy fingers, suddenly feeling nervous and out-of-sorts. 

“You will,” he assures me. 

“I still don’t understand anything from chapter five,” I say. 

“I can help,” he says. “Babe. Why didn’t you ask?” 

I take a deep breath, then sigh it out. Having him here is not an ideal situation; it doesn’t give me time to process my thoughts or what happened tonight - whatever it was. Derek is a good boyfriend, but his timing is usually horrible. 

“I don’t know,” I say, because I don’t feel like having this conversation. “I’m tired. I think I’m gonna head to bed. See you tomorrow, Amelia.” 

She sends me off with a lackluster wave and, instead of taking the hint that I want to be alone, Derek follows me to my room. We spend the night with each other a couple nights per week, it’s not exactly out of the ordinary, but I’m starting to think that he’s being purposefully difficult. There’s no easy way to tell him that I don’t want company, so I don’t even try. I’ll just have to get through this and use tomorrow to process what happened earlier. 

We make it to my room and I yank off my tights as soon as the door is closed. He sits on my bed and watches; I can see him in the mirror as I take my earrings out and set them in a heart-shaped dish on my vanity. 

“You were gone for so long,” he says, leaning back on his hands. “I missed you.” 

“Missed you,” I respond, concentrating on removing my necklace now. 

“Come here,” he says, a little bit of a whine in his voice. “Come sit with me.” 

I hang my necklace up in my jewelry box and concede, sitting across from him on my bed while slinging my arms around his shoulders. He cradles my face in his hands and kisses me without warning, so it takes a second for me to reciprocate. 

When he pulls away, he says, “You taste like booze.” 

I laugh. I don’t even mean to; it just comes out. “Booze?” I say. “I had like, one drink.” 

“Huh,” he says, wiping his mouth. “Maybe it’s me, then.” 

“Maybe.” 

He clears his throat and leans against my headboard, sizing me up in a way I don’t like. “If you went to a bar and didn’t drink, what  _ did  _ you do?” he asks. 

My face heats up and I hope he doesn’t notice. My overhead light is on its dimmest setting, so maybe he can’t see the pink on my cheeks. “What do you mean, what did I do?” I ask, and I hear the defensive tone in my voice. I try to take it out when I speak again. “We listened to the band. That’s why Izzie and Steph wanted me to go.” I give him a wide-eyed ‘duh’ look, but it doesn’t get him off my case. 

“What band?” 

“I don’t remember the name,” I say, though it’s basically plastered in red paint behind my eyelids - Half Alive. The name that I thought was so stupid earlier, ironically enough, now won’t leave me alone.

“Are they local?”

“I guess so,” I say, throwing my shirt into the hamper. 

“Were they any good?” 

“I don’t know, Derek,” I snap, turning to face him in my black bra and underwear. “Why are you asking so many questions?” 

“Just trying to make conversation,” he says, daring to sound wounded. “I figured the band had to be good if your friends got you to go out on a Sunday night. That’s not like you.” 

“I do it sometimes.” 

“Not before a big test,” he says. “I thought you were struggling with business ethics. What was it that you needed help with in chapter five?” 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I say. 

“I can help you,” he says. “If the test is tomorrow-” 

“Can we just stop talking? About this?” I say, hearing my voice heighten its pitch. I’m at my wits’ end with him and I wish he wasn’t here - not the best thought to have about your boyfriend of two years. 

“Fine by me,” he murmurs.

I let out a long exhale and run my fingers through my hair, spinning it to place it in a messy bun. “Thanks,” I say. 

He jerks his chin upwards. “What’s all over your hand?” he asks, watching me fix my hair. 

I quickly lower my hand and resist the urge to make sure that none of the numbers are legible. “We got stamped to get in,” I say. “I washed my hands and it got all smudged.” 

“Shower it off, if you want,” he says. “I’ll get your bed ready.” 

It’s not really a suggestion, it’s more of a direction, and I have no choice but to go along with it. I guess it’s confirmed that he’s spending the night. “‘Kay.” 

As I head to the bathroom, dry towel wrapped around me, I consider the fact that I’m the one who’s in the wrong, so I don’t have the right to be annoyed with him. I sat and flirted with Jackson for the better portion of the evening while Derek waited for me at my house. He offered to help me with something I’m genuinely struggling with, and it’s not a crime to be curious about where I was or what I was doing. All I’ve done is take my guilty conscience out on him. 

When I come back from the bathroom, I wrap my wet hair in a towel and lay down next to Derek in a t-shirt and pajama shorts, secretly hoping that he’s already asleep. But when he rolls over and grazes a hand over my side, I realize that he’s awake and he’s been waiting for me. 

“I really did miss you,” he says. 

These are words that I’m sure he believes, but I don’t think he’s ever missed me. When we’re apart, he tends to fill his time with other women - and he thinks I don’t know. I pretend not to know, too, because it’s just easier. I don’t like to cause a fuss, especially not over something I can’t control. And this relationship is definitely out of my control. 

“Mm-hmm,” I say, eyes closed as I try to deepen my breathing. 

“You miss me back?” he asks, slipping one hand under my shirt to graze my breasts. 

“I’m too tired,” I groan, turning onto my back. 

“That’s okay,” he says, kissing my cheek and then my lips. “I’ll do all the work. You just lay there and look pretty.”

“Wow, thanks.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Hmm.” 

“So?”

I sigh. “We just did it. On Friday.” 

“I know,” he gripes. “But I’m horny.” 

I sigh again, this time louder, and finally say, “Fine.”

The sheets rustle as I assume he pushes his boxers down, then he’s on top of me. As he thrusts and makes his usual strange sounds, I zone out and stare at the ceiling. When the time is right, I let loose a few low-effort moans and wait for him to get close. 

“Pull out,” I say sternly when it’s about to happen, and he listens. He knows I’d never sleep with him again if he didn’t. 

He comes all over the t-shirt I’m wearing and collapses on top of me, his back heaving with how hard he’s breathing. “Fucking amazing,” he pants. 

I yank my underwear up and push his shoulders away, then slip out from underneath his body to throw my now-soiled shirt in the hamper. Before I can even grab a new one from my dresser, he’s flat on his back, mouth wide open, and snoring. 

…

The next day, I can’t concentrate during my exam because I can’t stop thinking about last night. Not the part of last night that I spent with Derek; the part I spent with Jackson. Since I didn’t get time to dissect it when I got home, my brain decided that the perfect time to think it through would be the instant I opened the test booklet. 

As I walk out of the classroom, I can barely remember a single bubble I filled or an essay question that I answered, which is just great. That exam was a fourth of my grade, and I most likely bombed it. My dad is going to be pissed. 

I take a deep breath and tell myself that there’s nothing I can do about it now. When grades come out, I’ll beg my professor for a retake. But for now, I sit on a bench in the quad and pull up Instagram. If Izzie can find Alex on the app, I should be able to find Jackson. And I’m not done with him yet. 

I go to Izzie’s page, check who she’s following and eventually find Alex. Through him, I find Jackson’s page in under three minutes. Of course, it’s public because of Half Alive, so I can scroll through to my heart’s content. Luckily, I don’t even have to follow and let him know that I’ve been looking. 

The latest post is a photo of him from the night he played at Beat Brew Hall - I can tell by the outfit he’s wearing. A loose white tee and ripped black jeans would look basic on anyone else, but on him, the outfit looks masterfully put together. There aren’t any words in the caption, just the ‘rock on’ hand emoji, so I keep scrolling. 

A few lines down, after some promo for the band, is a picture of him and a girl I recognize as Half Alive’s lead singer. She has brown hair, a round face, and is really good at the sultry look she’s giving to the camera. She’s in every other picture I come across, always hanging off Jackson in some way or another. In the next one, she has both arms wrapped around his waist while licking his cheek, mouth wide open. I get that one off my screen real quick. 

I don’t spend much longer on his profile because all it’s doing is irritating me, seeing him with her. If they’re together, why would he flirt with me so heavily last night? He was really laying it on thick. If he’s involved with another girl, he was totally leading me on.

It only takes a second to realize that I was essentially doing the same thing to him. Apparently, it’s my specialty to take my own faults out on other people. First Derek, now Jackson. I have no room to talk with either of them. 

But even though I was in the wrong and Jackson clearly was too, I can’t help the urge that I have to see him again. Just me and him. I don’t want Izzie and Steph to come along or even be aware that I’m meeting up with him; I don’t want them to judge me. They’re both good at keeping secrets, but I can’t risk something like this getting back to Derek. Firstly, because mine and Jackson’s meeting won’t mean anything - at least, not romantically. I just want to get on the same page. Secondly, if my dad knew that I was going behind Derek’s back, he’d kill me. So, I decide to keep this to myself.

I look up Half Alive’s schedule, easily found on their official Instagram, and discover that he’s playing tomorrow night at Middlesex Lounge, which isn’t far from here. 

And I’m going to be there. 

…

Before heading out the next night, I have pretty much everything from my closet thrown onto my bed. Last time, I didn’t put much thought into what I wore to see the band, but that’s because I didn’t have to worry about impressing Jackson. Not that I’m worried about impressing him now, but I want to look good. I want him to want me, even though he can’t have me. And I can’t have him. But there’s nothing wrong with feeling desired. 

After at least an hour of deliberation, I pick out an olive green mini sweater dress with a V-neck and tie my hair into a loose updo, leaving a few curls down to frame my face. I slip on a pair of black boots and call it good, then head towards the door only to be stopped by the sound of Amelia’s voice. 

“Hey. Where are you off to?” 

With one hand on the doorknob, I turn around to look at her - red in the face. She’s probably too far away to notice, though, which is good. I shouldn’t have to lie, she’s not in control of me or what I do, but I still feel like I have to. She  _ is _ Derek’s sister, after all.

“A poetry reading,” I say, desperately trying to think of a plausible coffee shop near here. “At Curio.” 

“On a Wednesday?” she asks. 

“Yeah. I guess. I heard about it from my friend Reed. I’m gonna meet her there. We might be out for a while. So, don’t wait up.” 

“Have fun,” she says. “I didn’t know you wrote poetry.”

“I don’t,” I say, trying to hide the fact that I’m scrambling. “Reed does. I’m just going to listen to her. Just supporting a friend, that’s all.” 

“Alright,” Amelia says, looking back at the work she’s doing. “See ya later.” 

“Like I said, don’t wait up,” I say, before I can stop myself. “I’ll probably be late. I might not see you ‘til tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she says. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Alright. Okay. Bye,” I say, waving nervously before shutting the door and letting out a sigh of relief. 

I climb into the Chevy Suburban that my dad insisted on giving me - it’s huge, white, and sticks out like a sore thumb, but he claims that it’ll keep me safe in an accident. He really made it obvious that he doesn’t think I’m a good driver, even though I am. Parking is a different story. It’s pretty much impossible to park this thing, but I don’t have much of a choice. Middlesex Lounge isn’t within walking distance, and I don’t want to catch the bus. 

I plug the address into my GPS and get there a little past 8pm. Without Steph and Izzie by my side, I feel a little less confident heading in, so I cross my arms and keep my head down, not even bothering to order a drink. 

I glance at Half Alive’s poster on the wall just to confirm that I’m in the right place at the right time, then find a table off to the side. I pull out my phone and see that I have a text from Derek, received only a few minutes ago. 

**RECEIVED, 8:04pm - hey babe wanna study? I’ll pick u up**

I sigh, looking around as if someone here is going to physically catch me in my lie, and start typing a response. 

**SENT, 8:09pm - at a poetry reading. Won’t be back til late. Talk tomorrow xoxo**

With that, I slip my phone back into my purse and cross my legs. I face the stage as the lights lower, registering the way my heart hammers as Half Alive takes the stage. Cinematically, Jackson comes last. 

Admittedly, even though I’ve had time to warm up to it, their music still isn’t my style. It’s too loud, too harsh, and I’m partial to lighter, poppier sounds. But I spend less time listening to their sound than I do staring at Jackson, and it doesn’t take very long for him to stare back. 

They’re in the middle of their second song when he finally notices me. We lock eyes, and my heart stops. My skin breaks out in a wave of chills and it’s all I can do not to smile like a maniac. I keep my cool, though, because he does. He gives me a little smirk, but that’s all. But through the rest of their set - 7 songs - he barely takes his eyes off me. 

After they play their last note, the crowd erupts in applause and Jackson gestures with his head, giving me a suggestive nod towards the backstage area. Inconspicuously, I rise from my chair and slip into the shadows, away from the audience and into the quiet place he invited me. 

“Hey,” he says, still holding his guitar. “You came.” 

“I did,” I say, hands clasped in front of me. 

“Come with me. I’m about to put this away.” 

I follow him into a more brightly-lit room, and we find ourselves alone. With his back turned, I watch the muscles under his t-shirt work as he rests his guitar against the wall before turning to face me. He leans back, arms crossed, and gives me a once-over. 

“Where’re your friends?” he asks. 

“I… they were busy,” I say. “I’m here alone.”

“Wanted to see me that bad, huh?” 

“What?” I retort. “No.”

“Oh, so you must like our music that much,” he says, smiling. 

“You guys are good,” I say. 

“You still wish we played All Too Well, though.” 

I raise my eyebrows. “Did you go and look up her songs?” 

He laughs, but doesn’t answer. “You look beautiful,” he says. “Wish I could see more of those curls, though.” 

I ignore his comment about my hair and tuck it behind my ear. I clear my throat and decide to get right to the point of why I’m here. “I saw your Instagram,” I tell him. “I know you and your lead singer are together. So, I don’t know how you get away with flirting with random girls every night.” 

His forehead crinkles. “Not every night,” he says, lowering his voice. “And you’re far from random.” 

“So, you admit it. You were flirting with me.” 

“And you gave it right back,” he says, not missing a beat. “What’s your point?” 

I sputter, but only for a moment. “You’re seeing someone!” I say, and as the words come out, I understand how hypocritical they are. But he doesn’t know that. 

“Jo?” he says, clearing up her name. “Nah, we’re not together. Never have been.” 

I frown. “She was licking your face.” 

He chuckles. “Jealous?” 

“No,” I answer quickly. “It’s just… it’s very misleading.” 

He takes a long drink from a water bottle and then looks me in the eye. “You went and looked for my Instagram.” 

“I didn’t go looking,” I say. “I just happened to come across it.” 

“What was it that you wanted to see?” 

“Nothing,” I say, blinking hard. “I just… I thought the two of you were together, but now you’re telling me that you’re not. And I believe you. So, I guess there’s no reason for me to be here.” 

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he says, stepping closer. “There’s plenty of reason. You came out on a school night for me - again. Did you look up where I was playing?” 

I swallow hard. We’re less than a foot apart now. “No,” I say. 

He laughs softly and says, “Okay. So, you just happened to be passing by and stepped into a club, dressed up so pretty, on a Wednesday night. I’m pretty sure you should be studying, Harvard girl.” 

“Maybe,” I say. Now, we’re breathing each other’s air and his breath smells like peppermint. It’s driving me insane when it really, really shouldn’t be. 

I can’t be here any longer, so close to him. I have to go. 

“I should leave,” I say, but he takes my wrist gently as I’m turning away. When he touches me, my skin turns electric. 

“Hey,” he says softly, looking right into my eyes. His are a crystal, aqua blue - I hadn’t noticed that before. 

“What?” 

After giving me a small smile, he leans in and presses a long, slow kiss to my cheek. His lips linger on my skin, lighting me up from the inside, and I close my eyes before he pulls away. When he does, he huskily says, “Thanks for coming.” 

My heart is pumping in my throat. I have to go. Now. “Yeah,” I stammer. “Thanks. I mean, you’re welcome. God, I have to… I gotta go.” 

…

I get back in the Suburban and fumble to put the keys in the ignition, then let out a long, shuddering breath. I take my hair down and stare ahead for a second, then realize… I am not okay. What just happened was so totally not okay.

I make a small noise as I back out of my parking space, definitely faster than I should be going not only in this car, but in the mental state that I’m in. I grip the wheel tightly as I head out of the parking lot, gritting my teeth and trying to calm my insanely fast pulse. 

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop,” I mutter to myself, closing my eyes for a second. 

When I open them again, I see a figure in my headlights and then feel a thud. I slam on the brakes, freezing in place, and stare with wide eyes into the now-blank space in front of my car. 

“Holy shit,” I say, shaking now. “Holy shit. Holy shit! Oh my god, holy shit!” 

I throw the car into park and try to get out of my seatbelt, but it takes way too long because of how hard my hands are trembling. I fall out of the car and land hard on my knees, stumbling to my feet to see who the hell I just hit. 

“Jesus Christ…” I hear someone groan.

When I make it to the front of my giant SUV I see that the person I ran into, of course, because God must seriously hate me, is Jackson. And he’s now sitting up by the grill of my car, rubbing his head and squinting against the harsh headlights. 

“I’m so sorry!” I shriek, scurrying over to him. “Are you okay? Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you, I closed my eyes for one second, and-”

“You closed your eyes?” he grumbles, one hand still on his head. 

“It sounds bad. I know. Oh, my god. Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Are you hurt? Can you stand up?” 

I can’t wait for his answer because I don’t want anyone to see us out here and call the police. That would turn this into an even bigger mess than it already is. My dad still pays the insurance on this thing and he cannot find out. 

“Please, please, tell me you can stand,” I say. “I’ll help you. We can sit in the back of my car. I need to make sure you’re okay, but not out here. Come on.” 

“Fuckin’... goddamn...” he says, but his voice sounds better than it did a moment ago. “You hit me with your goddamn huge truck.” 

“I know, and I’m so, so, so sorry,” I say, helping him to his feet. “There you go. You got it.” 

I keep one arm wrapped around his waist even though his legs seem fine - he’s walking normally - and open the back door of my Suburban. The seats are flat because Izzie’s dog typically rides back here, which makes things even easier for us. 

“You sit there for a sec,” I say. “I’m gonna park.”

“Don’t hit anyone,” he says, resting gingerly against the wall with his legs out straight. 

“Ha,” I say, taking a deep breath to center myself as I pull forward into an open space away from most other cars. 

I turn the engine off, keep the overhead lights on, and crawl over the center console to get in back with Jackson. He’s sitting in the same spot, looking a little dazed, watching me as I climb over his legs to sit beside him. 

“You really know how to get a guy’s attention,” he says. “Really knocked me off my feet.” 

“Please, stop with the jokes,” I say desperately. “What if you’re really hurt?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“I need to check,” I say. “Can I?” 

“Go nuts.” 

I start at his feet, taking his shoes off and tossing them to the side. I squeeze his ankles and watch his face for any reactions of pain, but there’s nothing. “Doesn’t hurt?” I ask, and he shakes his head no. 

I squeeze his shins, his calves, his knees. I pull up his jeans and look for any gashes or blood on his lower legs, but find nothing. Then, I move up towards his thighs and hover for a second, my hands subconsciously pausing. 

“Sorry,” I whisper awkwardly, and decide not to squeeze. Instead, I rub my hands over the tops of his legs and catch his eye. “Good?” 

“Careful now,” he says slyly. 

“It’s not even like that,” I mumble, checking over his arms and finding them all clear. 

He lifts his shirt to show me a clearly defined - but not outrageous - six pack of abs. “Check that out,” he says, that familiar cocky tone coming out. “How’s that look, doc?” 

“Fine,” I say, yanking his shirt down to cover him again. “Let me check your head.” 

He rests it against the window, letting out a long breath. He still smells like peppermint. To get a better angle, I sit on his lap and straddle his legs, but I don’t rest my weight down on him. 

“You never called me,” he says, lips barely moving. 

His words take me by surprise, but I try to hide it. “I know,” I say. 

His eyes had been closed, but he opens them by a fraction to say, “Your hair is down.” After the words come out, he lifts a hand and runs my curls through his fingers, smiling as he does. 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Why didn’t you call?” 

I keep his head in both hands so he holds it up. I look it over and see there’s no blood, but when I run my hands over the back, there’s a small lump that I’m pretty sure wasn’t there before. “Did you hit your head?” I ask. “Did you hit your head when you fell?” 

“You mean, when you hit me?” 

I make an apologetic face and say, “Yes.” 

“On the ground, yeah,” he says. “Hurts like hell.” 

“Let me look at your pupils.” 

“If you’re not gonna call me, I’m gonna have to call you,” he says, keeping his eyes closed. 

“Jackson,” I say. “I need to see your eyes.” 

“I’ll open them if you give me your number,” he says. 

I sigh, resting my weight down because my legs were getting tired. “Fine,” I say, then write it on a stray napkin and shove it into his front pocket.

“Better not be one of those fake number type shits,” he says.

“It’s not,” I say. “Will you open your eyes now, please?” 

He smirks and does as I ask. I lift his eyelids and gaze into his eyes, seeing that his pupils are a little oversized. 

“Uh-oh,” I say. “I think you might have a concussion.” He laughs after I speak, so I say, “What?” 

“Nothing. Just... who says ‘uh-oh?’” He laughs again. “You sound like… like a little bear or something.” 

“I really don’t think your head is okay,” I say. 

I take my hands away from his eyes and leave them on his shoulders, and it only takes a second for him to move in on me. The moment is perfect - I’m on his lap, our faces are only inches apart, and it seems right. 

He presses his lips to mine and it knocks the wind out of me. He kisses differently than anyone else I’ve kissed before - more assured and passionate - and it makes heat gather between my legs and my head buzz with an intense thrill. My hands move from his shoulders to his face, and I hold his jaw for a moment, tilting my head and parting my lips, getting into it until I realize what the hell I’m doing. 

I pull away and lick my lips, tasting him still. “We can’t,” I breathe, chest lifting. “You’re concussed, and I…” 

“You’re…” he searches. “You’re what?” 

I chew the inside of my lip, then meet his eyes guiltily. “I’m taken,” I say. 


	3. Chapter 3

**APRIL**

There’s an awkward pause, a pocket of silence where my words hang in the air between us. My chest rises and falls with ferocity, and - if I’m not mistaken - I feel how excited he is just under my thighs. We can’t stay like this. 

I scoot off of his lap and swallow hard, resting against the opposite wall of the car. “I… um, sorry,” I stammer, gently touching my fingers to my lips. I can’t deny it; I liked kissing him. I liked it a lot. Too much. “I should’ve said something sooner. We shouldn't have done that.” 

He eyes me without saying anything at first. His eyes are so vibrant that he might as well be looking right through me - literally and figuratively. He _ knows _ that I liked it, but I would never say it out loud. I can’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he says smoothly. “I overstepped.” 

“No, no,” I say, finding it hard to meet his gaze now. “It was me. I should’ve… I should’ve said something…” 

“Maybe you could’ve fit it in when you were reaming me for cheating,” he says. 

I duck my head, caught. I have no leg to stand on, and I know it. It doesn’t mean I can own it, though; I’m not that big of a person. 

“Well, I did think you were-”

“Hey,” he says, raising one hand with the palm up. “I’m not trying to fight with you. It’s cool. You got a man, it’s fine.” 

“It’s not,” I say. “We kissed, and-”

“And nothing,” he says, brushing it off. “We kissed.” 

“And we shouldn’t have.”

“But you don’t regret it,” he says, eyes searing into mine. “Do you?” 

I take a deep breath and sigh it out, avoiding his eyes again. All I can do is groan.

He doesn’t relent, though. “Do you, Harvard girl?” he asks.

“I’m not going to answer that,” I say, regaining my composure as best I can. “Let me look at you one last time.” 

“Gotta keep this face in your mind.” 

“For your concussion,” I say sternly, then shine my phone’s flashlight directly into his eyes. 

“Damn!” he exclaims, squinting against the light. “You trying to blind me?” 

“Maybe,” I say. “Does your head hurt?” 

“I smacked it on the concrete. What do you think?” 

“Don’t get mad at me,” I say defensively. 

He narrows his eyes. “You hit me with your car.” 

“Okay, fine,” I say. “You’re right. I’m going to call the police and file a-” 

“That’s what we’re not gonna do,” he says, taking my phone and tossing it onto the driver’s seat. “Getting the cops involved will just make things messy.” 

“They’re already messy!” 

“Messier, then,” he says. 

I give him a long look, then concede. “Fine,” I say. “Climb in the front. I’ll drive you home.” 

He blinks slowly, eyes drifting to my lips before finally saying, “Nah. No, thanks.” 

“Jackson, come on. It’s the least I can-”

“I’m good,” he says. “I’ll catch a ride with Jo.” 

“Jo, the…?” 

“My lead singer.” 

“Oh,” I say, clipped. “Nice.” 

“You gonna be mad now?” he says, opening the back door to maneuver his way out of my giant car. “After you just two-timed your boyfriend?” 

“I’m not mad,” I say, giving myself an excuse not to look at him as I climb into the driver’s seat. “I just want to make sure you get home safe.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, raising one hand in a wave. “I’ll see you around.” 

After he’s out of sight, I’m full of regret. I shouldn’t have let him leave; I should’ve just driven him home. It’s only right, after what I did. I assaulted him with my car - that’s a big deal. He probably has a closed head injury because of me. And he just walked off into the night, headed to meet up with this Jo person. Maybe she’ll nurse him back to health and they’ll have sex in her car. I honestly don’t care. He was the one who insisted on leaving, so it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. He can have her, and she can have him. I have Derek, and that’s what matters.

I drive way too fast, but I can’t help it. I know I shouldn’t be behind the wheel when I’m so angry and flustered, I proved that once already tonight, but there’s no other way home. 

Once I pull into the driveway, I will my tension to fade, but it won’t leave. When I push open the front door, my eyebrows are set low and my shoulders are up by my ears. Nothing I do makes them lower. 

I’m not as late as I expected, which means that Amelia is still awake when I walk in. She’s on the couch watching TV but turns to face me when I come through the foyer. 

“Hey,” she says. “You’re home early.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“How was the reading?”

I look up, confused. If possible, my eyebrows get even lower. “Huh?”

“The reading, the poetry reading?” she clarifies, and I remember my lie from earlier. 

“Oh,” I say, concentrating on removing my scarf. “It was fine. It was good.” 

“How did Reed do?” 

“Great,” I say. 

“Doesn’t  _ sound _ like she did great,” Amelia giggles. “You’re in a mood.”

“I’m not in a mood,” I say, looking up with a glare. “I’m just tired.” 

“Sure...” Amelia says.

“I am,” I say. 

“Well, maybe if you didn’t stay out so late on school nights…” she trails off. She smiles when she says it, which means it’s a half-joke, but I’m not laughing. 

“You don’t need to worry about what I do on school nights. Alright, Amy?” I snap. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need you breathing down my neck every five seconds. I’m sick of that shit.” 

“Jesus,” she says, her expression turning dark. “Calm down.” 

“Sorry,” I say, but I clearly don’t mean it. The last thing I want right now is to be talking to her, and she’s about to rope me into a fight. I have to leave it. “I just wanna be left alone for a while.” 

“Yeah, got it,” she mutters. 

“And, please,” I say, unable to stop myself. “Don’t ever tell me to calm down.” 

…

A week or so later, I’m headed out of the library when my phone rings. Peeking at the screen, I see that it’s my dad calling and decide to let it go to voicemail. When I get in the car and get all my things situated, he calls again - he’s stubborn, so I might as well pick up. 

“Hey, Dad,” I say, leaving the car in park. If I start driving, he’ll know. He always knows. And then he’ll get on my case about being on the phone while on the road. 

“Hey, sweetie,” he says. “Are you busy?” 

“I… uh, no,” I say. “Just… my phone was on silent. I didn’t hear it ring.” 

He laughs. “What’s the point of having a phone if you never answer it?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“What are you up to?” 

“I just got done studying,” I say. “I’m about to drive home. I’m in the car.” 

“You taking care of that car?” 

My eyes widen and my stomach sinks, afraid that he somehow knows. I wouldn’t put it past him, but I’m not about to be the one who brings it up. “Yep,” I say. 

“Good,” he says. “How’s Derek?” 

“He’s fine,” I say.

“April,” Dad says. “You and I barely ever talk, and all I can get from you are these one-word answers?” 

“Sorry,” I sigh. 

“Tell me how Derek’s doing.” 

“He’s good, he’s…” I rack my brain to try and think of something notable that my dad would like to hear. I’ve barely seen Derek in the past week, so it’s not easy. “He’s been helping me with Business Ethics.” 

“You still struggling with that?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“It’s lucky you have Derek around, then,” he says. “But you know I'm always here if you need me.” 

My dad has been in business for my entire life. I know he’s available to help - of course I know. But he’s far from my first choice. “Yeah. I know, Dad.” 

“Good. Hey, I was calling because I want to invite you and Derek over for dinner this coming weekend. I’m gonna fire up the grill, get a few steaks going. I’d love for you guys to be here.” 

I have no idea what this weekend looks like, but I know what I don’t  _ want _ it to look like: countless hours spent with my dad and Derek in the suburbs, being forced to stare into the woods, zoned out while they talk business. God forbid I look at my phone and have my dad call me impolite. 

We’ll probably spend most of our time outside, which is fine with me. I don’t like going inside; I didn’t even like it when I lived there, but since I’ve been gone, it’s only gotten worse. Dad doesn’t keep photos of my mom and Coco up - he never did - but the whole house still reminds me of them. Even after all these years, it still feels like them. 

My mom and sister died in a car crash when I was nine years old. Colette, I called her Coco, was fifteen. I can’t remember much about them, but I do know that they were my entire life while they were alive. When they died, it left Dad to raise me on his own, which is something I don’t think he ever wanted to do. 

I don’t want to say yes, but there's no other choice. I know for a fact that he won’t take no for an answer. He’ll guilt me into saying yes and make me feel bad about turning him down at all, so I might as well just make this easy. “Sure,” I say. “We’ll come.” 

“Come Saturday, and spend the night,” Dad says. “I’ll make up your old room.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

I never stay in my old room. I haven’t looked inside it for years, but I’m not sure my dad knows that. He might just chalk it up to me being private, or being embarrassed over my kid stuff. Neither of which are true. My old room has things inside it that involve too much explaining, memories that I don’t care to give Derek a tour of. 

“The guest room, then.” 

“Dad, we’ll just come back to the city after dinner. We don’t have to stay.”

“No,” he says. “You’ll stay. I’ll make up the room. Tell Derek, alright, honey? I’ll see you on Saturday.” 

As soon as I hang up the phone, I start mentally preparing for what’s to come.

…

An hour before Derek and I are set to leave for my Dad’s on Saturday, I’m in my room packing a bag. I shove in a few essentials - my lotion, antidepressants, deodorant, a couple pairs of jeans, a few sweaters, and call it good. 

I turn to look in my full-length mirror and sigh as I fluff my hair. I lost the motivation to keep dyeing it brown, and since my roots kept coming back, I let it go back natural - to auburn red. I had gotten somewhat used to being brunette, so now the red is almost foreign. I like it, though. It reminds me of my family. 

The curls have a mind of their own today, which they usually do, so I keep them down and pinned away from my face with a clip. Even so, they fall into my face as I work on shoving a few last-minute things into my bag. 

From downstairs, I hear a knock at the door and figure that it must be Derek, here early. A twinge of annoyance appears in my gut, but I try to ignore it. This weekend will only be harder to stomach if he and I aren’t on good terms. 

I let Amelia get the door as I continue to reset my room. A few seconds later, though, I hear her call up the stairs. “April,” she says. “Someone’s here for you.” 

I screw up my eyebrows and look towards my open bedroom door. “Is it Derek? You can send him up,” I say. 

There’s a slight pause before she says, “It’s not Derek.” 

If it were Izzie and Steph, she wouldn’t have bothered with announcing their arrival, so I have no clue what to expect as I hurry down the stairs. My dad, come all the way here to pick me up? A friend from class? Derek’s roommate?

When I get to the entryway, I see that all of my potential answers are wrong. Very wrong. Because, leaning against my doorjamb with his hands in his pockets, is no one other than Jackson from Half Alive. 

Instantly, my eyes go wide and my face heats up red. I want to ask him what he’s doing here, but Amelia is still lingering and I don’t want to seem suspicious. “Oh… hey, Jackson,” I say.

“Hey,” he says, flashing me that charming smile. 

Amelia still hasn’t left. She isn’t standing right beside me - she wouldn’t be that obvious - but I can tell she’s listening from where she’s ‘doing homework’ on the couch. 

“What’s up?” I ask, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible. I have a thousand questions running through my mind, and the first one is how in the world he found out where I live. I can’t ask that, though. There’s not much I can say without sounding like I’ve been caught in the act. 

“Not much,” he says. “I was just in the neighborhood, and wanted to drop this off.” He extends a closed fist towards me, gesturing for me to open my hand. Confused, I follow through and he drops a heart-shaped locket into my palm. “You left it at the bar,” he says. 

I stare at the pretty little necklace, silver and dainty, and know one thing for sure. This is not mine. 

“Oh, this isn’t-” I begin, but he cuts me off. 

“I found it at the table you were sitting at,” he says. “I’m pretty sure it’s yours.” 

He makes heady eye contact with me and I understand without words. I don’t understand  _ why _ , but I get what he’s trying to get me to do. Just go along with it.

“Oh…” I say, turning it over in my hand. It really is beautiful, and it sparkles in the light. It’s definitely something I’d wear. But why is he doing this, giving me this gift? It makes no sense. I can’t take it. But I can’t give it back to him right now, not with Amelia spying. “Well, thank you. I’ve been looking for it.” 

“Kept it safe for you,” he says with a grin. 

“Thanks,” I say, closing my fingers around it. 

“Your hair,” he says, eyes roaming. “You changed it.” 

“I went back natural,” I say. 

“I like it,” he says, then opens his mouth to say more before he realizes that he shouldn’t. Instead, he modifies whatever he planned on saying. “Bet your boyfriend does, too.” 

“He liked me brunette,” I say, and as the words come out, I know I’m saying too much. I shouldn't get into this, not here. Not now. Not ever, probably. 

“Oh, really?” Jackson says. 

“Uh-huh,” I say, then stare into his eyes for a long moment. His are smiling, but I’m sure I look like a deer in the headlights. 

“Sucks for him, then,” he says, still smiling. “Anyway, I’m glad I caught you. Keep that necklace safe, alright?” 

I run my thumb over its smooth surface and say, “I will. Thanks, Jackson.” 

As soon as he leaves, I shut the door with force and spin around, headed back up the stairs before Amelia can ask any questions. I lock myself in and rest against the door, eyes darting everywhere as I try to figure out what the hell just happened. 

I flatten my palm and take a closer look at the necklace. Only now am I seeing that, though it’s small, the heart opens into two halves. I pry them apart to see a tiny piece of paper inside that’s folded even tinier, so I take it out and un-crumple it, noticing a message written on it. 

_ You must have lost my number.  _

_ 555-248-4820 _

I gape at the familiar, spiky handwriting and can barely believe my eyes. He has more guts than I gave him credit for. But I still have to put a stop to this; it isn’t right. 

I dial the number quickly and he answers on the first ring. 

“Been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Jackson,” I hiss, moving as far away from my door as possible. I slip into my closet and, even then, I still whisper. “You have to stop.” 

“You called me.” 

I groan, throwing my head back. “I mean you can’t just come… I’m taken!”

“Okay,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I have a boyfriend.” 

“I said okay.” 

“So, you can’t come to my house and like, give me things. This necklace is really pretty, but I shouldn’t…”

“You wanna give it back?”

I pause for a moment, knowing the answer as my breath catches in my throat. Then, I spit out the truth. “No…” 

He chuckles. “Alright. Keep it, then. It’s for you.” 

I close my eyes and chew on the inside of my lip, completely torn. This is wrong. I know it’s wrong. If I can’t wear the necklace around Derek, then I shouldn’t have it at all. But I can’t bear to part with it, I don’t  _ want _ to give it back. He gave it to me; he thought of me. I want to keep it. 

I don’t have anything to say. I can’t think of any words that will fit. Luckily, Jackson fills the silence - but what he fills it with doesn’t help to clarify my thoughts. 

“We’re playing at Post Underground tonight,” he says. “Come see me.” 

I’ve heard of Post Underground. It’s near Brookline, which happens to be the suburb of Boston where my dad lives. 

“Jackson, I can’t… I…”

“Our set’s at 10,” he says. “I’ll look for you. But if I don’t see you, I’ll know why. I’ll understand.” 

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before hanging up. 

I place my phone face-down on my bed and flop backwards, squeezing my eyes shut tight. I can’t deal with this. I need time to sort out my thoughts and figure out what I’m doing with my life, but I can’t even get that. Once again, Amelia’s voice calls up the stairs. And this time, she says: “Derek’s here.” 

I sit up straight right away, shoving the necklace into my pocket along with the tiny note that came with it. I finger-comb my curls out of my face and try to pull myself together as I trot down the stairs to greet my boyfriend. 

He’s waiting at the foot of the steps with a messenger bag thrown over his shoulder, watching me as I come down. “Hey, pretty,” he says. “Dang, your red really came back strong.” His eyes are wide as he says it, and I can’t tell if he means it as a good thing. 

“Yeah,” I say, giving him a chaste peck on the lips. “You’re a little early.” 

“Traffic’s good,” he says. “We should get going while the roads are this clear.” 

“Oh, sure,” I say. “My bag’s upstairs. Sorry, I’m distracted. Crazy morning.” 

“Yeah,” Amelia cuts in. “Some random guy just came by. It was weird.” 

Derek looks between the both of us and my gut twists. I don’t dare look at Amelia; I know she said that on purpose, just to stir the pot. If I were the smacking type, I’d smack her. 

“A random guy?” Derek asks. 

“Yeah, it was nothing,” I say, waving the words off as I say them. “He was just dropping something off for me.” 

“What, a textbook or something?” Derek says.

“A necklace,” Amelia answers, before I can. 

I swallow hard and try to keep my cool. If I get upset, this will go south. “Yeah, just a necklace I left at the bar,” I say. “I’m gonna go get my bag.”

With one foot on the steps, Derek stops me. “Wait,” he says. “When were you at the bar?” 

“I don’t know, sometime last week,” I say. “Tuesday, I think.” 

“Tuesday... the day you went to your friend’s poetry reading?” he presses. 

With that, I know the gig is up. I should’ve fibbed about the day, but the truth came out too easily. “I… yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry. It was nothing, though. Me and Reed stopped at the bar after her reading was over and had a drink. That was it.” 

I know I shouldn’t be defending myself like this, but I can’t help it. When backed into a corner, I tend to try and scramble out as best I can. 

“You didn’t tell me,” he says. 

“I didn’t, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t think it was important.” 

“Who was this guy that dropped off your necklace? Why did you take it off, and how did he know it was yours?” 

“Oh my gosh,” I say, backing up. “It was nothing, Derek. I’m sorry I lied, but it really was nothing. I took the necklace off because it was getting tangled in my hair, and I left it on the table. I don’t know how he knew it was mine… he just did.” 

“You could’ve told me you were going out after the reading,” he says. “I would’ve come and met you so you wouldn’t have had to drive.”

“I was fine,” I insist. 

He gives me a hard stare. “I don’t like being lied to, April. You know that.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, hearing the all-too-familiar begging tone in my voice. 

He sighs and looks away, eyes on the floor. “Well, it’s done now. Just go get your stuff. We have to leave.” 

I turn my back and head up the stairs slowly, taking deep breaths as I go. That was the last thing I wanted to happen, and it was Amelia’s fault. It was almost like she wanted to cause a scene, she wanted to out me to her brother - even though she doesn’t know the half of what went on between me and Jackson.

I massage my temples as I pick up my bag and shut my bedroom light off. As I close my eyes and inhale, I can think of a thousand things I’d rather be doing. I don’t want to go to my dad’s; I don’t want to spend time around him and Derek - especially now. 

Just as I’m heading back down the stairs and wishing that there was some way out of it, some way to escape for even a little bit, it dawns on me. There is.


	4. Chapter 4

**APRIL**

Right before I head downstairs, I shove something to wear other than a sweater or jeans into my bag - a dark purple, long-sleeved, velvet mini dress. I make sure it sits near the bottom and zip up my backpack with some struggle before exiting my room again. 

I can hear the faint rise and fall of Derek and Amelia’s voices as I head their way, but the conversation comes to an abrupt halt as soon as I come through the foyer. They both stare at me with blank expressions, but I don’t draw any attention to it. I already know they were talking about me. They’ll just deny it. 

“Ready?” Derek asks. 

“Mm-hmm,” I say, grabbing my purse from the hook. 

In the back of my mind, I’m tempted to suggest we take two cars. If I drive myself, it’ll be easier to sneak away when I need to. But though it might be more convenient for later, right now it’ll only make Derek suspicious. He’ll ask why, and I have no viable reason - at least, not one that I’m willing to share with him. So, I keep my mouth shut and tell myself that he and my dad fall asleep pretty early, anyway. 

Once we get in Derek’s car, I sit in the passenger’s seat with my purse on my lap. I keep my phone tucked inside just in case Jackson feels the urge to call - something that I really wouldn’t put past him. I can’t risk it while in such close quarters with Derek. 

The first thirty miles or so of the trip are quiet. He doesn’t even turn the radio on, and I don’t either. When we’ve been on the highway for a little while, though, he speaks up while drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. 

“If you didn’t tell me about going to the bar that night, what else haven’t you told me?” he asks. 

I resist the urge to roll my eyes or let out a long sigh. “Derek…” I say, pressing my fingers to my forehead. “It’s not like that.” 

“A lie’s a lie, April,” he says. 

“Okay, but I’m also allowed to do things on my own,” I say.

“Of course you are,” he replies. 

“You’re kinda making me feel like I’m not.” 

“April,” he says incredulously. “I would never try to control you. I just like being involved in your life. We’re dating; isn’t that normal?” 

“I guess.”

“If you want me to stop asking questions, I’ll stop asking questions,” he says. “It’s just how I show that I care. But if you want me to stop-”

“No, no,” I say. “I know you care about me.” 

“I need to know where you are when you go out, because I want to keep you safe,” he says. “That’s all it is. I don’t ever want anything to happen to you.” 

“I know.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yes, Derek,” I say. “I’m sorry that I lied. It won’t happen again.” 

“I’m not trying to parent you, April,” he says. “I hope you know that. I just care. I love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes, hoping to get a nap in to avoid any further conversation. I’m not so lucky, though, because he starts talking again. And he still hasn’t dropped the subject. 

“So, which necklace was it that you left?” 

I inhale deeply, keeping my eyes directed out the window instead of turning to face him. “Just a little pendant that I wear sometimes,” I say. “I got it at the thrift store.” 

“Have I seen it?” 

“I’m not sure. Probably.” 

“Thank god it was just a thrift store necklace. Imagine if it had been one of your mom’s. You would’ve been heartbroken. You should keep a better eye on your things, honey.” 

At the mention of my mom, I bite the inside of my cheek and blink hard. It’s not a secret that what little jewelry that Mom and Coco had was left to me - but I never wear any of the pieces. The prospect of losing them is too much to bear. So, the fact that Derek is insinuating that I would - when, in reality, I didn’t lose  _ any  _ necklace - is enough to put me on edge. 

“I know,” I say quietly. 

“Hey,” he says, reaching for my mind. “You don’t have to feel bad. At least that guy brought it back, right? Lucky you’re so pretty. That’s probably why he noticed it in the first place.” 

I let him keep my hand. I have to, even though I want to rip it away. I don’t want to raise any questions in his mind, not when my plan tonight is already so rickety. 

“Yeah,” I say. 

He turns on the radio, finally. And we spend the rest of the drive to my dad’s in silence. 

…

When we pull into the driveway, I try to yank myself from the trance that driving for so long put me in. Not only do I not want to be here, but I’m tired and I want to be alone. Those three things put together are a recipe for disaster. 

I get out of the car and know that I have to turn my personality on, though. If I’m muted in any way, in general or towards Derek, my dad will notice. He always does. It’s like he has a sixth sense for that type of thing. 

So, on the way in, I take my boyfriend’s hand and paste on a strained smile. Behind it, though, my throat is dry and my stomach is queasy, not to mention the fact that my fingertips have been numb since the moment we turned onto my dad’s street. 

When my dad opens the door, welcoming us with open arms, my heart hammers and my palm grows sweaty inside Derek’s grip. I hide it, though. I’ve learned by now how to create a convincing mask - at least, for a short period of time. 

“You made it!” Dad booms, then pulls Derek into a hug. I use that time to hastily wipe my hands on my jeans. “How was the drive?” 

“Great,” Derek says as Dad releases him. “Barely any traffic.” 

“C’mere, April May,” Dad says, and I grit my teeth as I go in for the hug. 

My name is not April May. My dad thought it would be funny to name me ‘April May,’ claiming that he could pick my middle name because my mom picked April. My mom, because she had taste, didn’t think April May was funny at all and elected to name me April Noelle instead, after my great-grandma. Noelle was my mom and grandma’s middle name, too. Apparently, my mom and dad fought about it for days and my dad dug his heels in, insisting he would always call me April May and never April Noelle. So far, he hasn’t relented. I hate my name - the entirety of it - whenever the made-up version comes from his mouth. 

Derek laughs a little as he watches us, muttering, “Ha. April May.” 

“That’s not my-”

“Come on in!” Dad interrupts, taking my backpack. “Make yourselves at home.” 

It’s not easy to ‘make myself at home’ here. Every time I come, which isn’t often, I desperately search the walls, the shelves, the cabinets, for something that belongs to my mom or my sister. Every time the result is the same, but I still can’t stop looking. The only thing in this house that exists as a small reminder of them is the couch in the living room. My mom picked it out when I was a toddler, and it’s been here since then. Other than that, there are no hung photos in frames, no memories on display, no nothing. It’s like the two of them never existed. 

My dad walks through the house with Derek as they head to the backyard, and my boyfriend turns around to beckon me outside. “April, you coming?” 

I suddenly have the unignorable need to find a picture of my mom and sister, even if I can only find one. I know where the tub of photos are. I just need a few minutes to go through it by myself. 

“I’ll be right out,” I say, relieved when they leave without me. 

After checking to make sure that they’re busy by the grill, I head to the den and open up the wardrobe that holds all the out-of-season coats and winter gear. At the very bottom is a big Tupperware container with a broken lid, and it takes a lot of strength to yank it out, but I eventually get it on the carpet where I can sit comfortably next to it. 

I can’t remember the last time I got a chance to look in here. It was when I still lived in this house, and too young to understand how much my dad would dislike it. It was innocent, I was just curious, but I learned my lesson soon after. 

I try not to think about those memories, though, and bring the ones in the photos to the forefront of my mind. The first one that I see is a shot of me and Coco in front of a Christmas tree - we used to get the biggest one we could find and set it up in the living room. Ever year, we’d take turns putting on the star. In this picture, I’m just a baby and Coco is about six years old, holding me on her lap. She has both arms tight around my chunky middle, her face frozen in a wide smile, pressed right next to mine. 

I trace the shape of her face, the ringlets in her pigtails, and wish I could remember. I’m smiling in the photo - all gums - and everything seems right. The house is decorated, the fireplace is lit, and my sister is holding me. I wish I could go back. 

The next photo I pull out is of the three of us - me, my mom, and Coco. We’re sitting at a picnic table and I’m on Mom’s lap, facing her but with my back bent to look at the camera. My two front teeth are missing and Coco is attempting to cover the holes in my mouth with her hand. I must be about 7 or 8, but this one is hard to remember, too. 

People say that the first thing you lose about a person is the sound of their voice, and that is very true. I can’t remember what my sister or my mom sounded like. I wish I could hear them say my name or tell me they loved me one last time. 

I continue to dig through the box until I come across a VHS with ‘ _ April’s 2nd birthday’  _ written in cursive on the label. My stomach jumps until I realize that all the tape is unspooled and tangled, and it’s probably unwatchable. Unable to stop myself, though, I tuck it into my purse as gently as I can. 

I pick up a couple more photos, school portraits taken of me and my sister, and I’m lost in the act of comparing them when I hear the sound of a throat clearing above my head. When I take my eyes off the pictures, I see my dad hovering over me with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

“I… I was just looking,” I say, hurrying to put the photos back and snap the lid shut. 

“Those pictures aren’t yours,” he says. “Those are private.” 

“I just wanted to see Mom and-” 

“If they’re behind a closed door, April, they’re private. Do you understand?” 

“I just wanted…” 

He takes a step forward, emphasizing our difference in power, and I shrink back. “Do you understand?” he repeats. 

“Yeah.” 

Then, snapping the tension, Derek walks in and slings an arm around my dad’s shoulders. “Hey, what’s going on? You left me high and dry out there.” 

Dad keeps his eyes on me. “I was just grabbing April,” he says. 

“Yeah, honey, come out,” Derek says. “It’s beautiful outside. You’ll love it.” 

“Alright,” I say, conceding yet again. “I’m coming.”

…

Later, as we’re eating, I keep my eyes on my plate while Derek and Dad talk. I stopped listening a while ago, but the sound of my name brings me back to the conversation. 

“You’re not getting any younger, April,” Dad says. When I look up, he’s grinning. “The biological clock. Tick tock, tick tock?” 

I crinkle my eyebrows. “Huh?” 

Derek laughs and touches my wrist. “She’s so spacey,” he says. “Your dad was just asking when we’re gonna have a baby.” 

My eyes widen as I ask, “What?  _ When _ ?” 

“Well, I assume it’s a ‘when’ and not an ‘if,’” Dad says, looking to Derek conspiratorially. “Someone’s gotta give Papa Joe some grandbabies!” 

I didn’t have much of an appetite before, but now it’s completely gone. “We’re still in school, Dad,” I say. 

“I should know. I’m the one paying for it,” he says, laughing. 

My cheeks go hot with embarrassment. “Dad, I offered to-” 

“Honey, I’m just messing with you!” he says. “I meant  _ after _ Harvard, of course.” 

I can’t meet either of their eyes. “Maybe,” I say. I know turning him down will just cause dissent, and I don’t have the energy for that. 

“I can’t wait to start a family with her,” Derek says, talking about me as if I’m not there. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”

It takes all I have not to burst out laughing. Derek, excited about starting a family when he’s not even loyal to me now, as it stands? Off the top of my head, I can name four girls that he’s slept with since we started dating. He thinks I only know about one. 

As usual, though, I stay quiet and wait for dinner to be over. 

…

Bedtime can’t come soon enough. As soon as my dad goes to his room and hints that Derek and I should get some rest as well, there’s a weight lifted from my shoulders. 

I sit on the edge of the bed, leaning forward in my pajamas as Derek gets changed. I let my head rest in my open palms, and as I’m looking at the floor I see my boyfriend’s socked feet appear in front of me. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

I look up, feeling drained. “Being around him just makes me so tense,” I say. 

He screws up his eyebrows. “Really? Your dad?” 

I nod. As if there’s anyone else I could be talking about. 

“Come here,” he says, “I’ll give you a massage.” 

He shifts to sit behind me and knead my shoulders in his hands, and I have to admit that it does feel good. I let my eyes close, feeling the closest to relaxed that I’ve been all day. 

“Thank you,” I murmur, letting my head fall to one side as I let out a long exhale. 

“Mm-hmm,” he says, and I feel him lift onto his knees. “I’m always here for you. You know that, April May.” 

Instantly, I go rigid again and turn around to face him. “Don’t call me that,” I say. 

“Why?” he asks. “Isn’t that your name?” 

“Of course it’s not,” I say. “That would be so stupid. My mom named me, Derek. My middle name is Noelle.” 

“Oh,” he says. “I never knew. Sorry.” 

I roll my eyes once I turn back around. I know I’ve told him that before. It’s definitely not new information that I hate when my dad calls me April May. 

“Whatever,” I say. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning closer to press his lips to my neck, right next to his moving fingers. “I didn’t mean to piss you off.” 

“I’m fine,” I say tersely. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, kissing my shoulder. I tense up, willing him to stop, but he doesn’t pick up the cue - which shouldn’t surprise me. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” 

“Okay,” he says, then wraps his arms around my middle to pull me flush against him. “I know what can make you feel a lot better…” 

He slips one hand up my chest and grabs a firm handful of my right breast. “Ow,” I say, jolting away. “No. I don’t feel like it tonight.” 

“Come on, honey…” he says. “Why not?” 

As I look at his face, I’ve never disliked him more. He looks pitiful, trying to be cute with the puppy dog eyes, begging for sex. I want to slap him. I clench my fists to keep myself from doing just that. 

“It’s weird. We’re in my childhood home, Derek. It’s… it’s just weird, alright? I wanna go to sleep.” 

He huffs and lies flat on his back. “You’re never excited about sex anymore.” 

“Well, I’m sorry,” I say, unwilling to find an excuse to placate him with tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. But tonight, I’m mentally spent. 

“You’re sorry? That’s all? What’s so wrong with me that you don’t wanna have sex anymore?” 

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Derek,” I grumble, turning onto my side to flip the bedside light off. “I’m just going through a lot, okay? And like I said, this is where I grew up. I don’t want to have sex here. It feels wrong.” 

“Fine,” he says, turning to face the opposite direction. I’m so thankful that he does. 

We don’t even say goodnight, but I honestly don’t care. I know it’s callous, but I can’t dig any deeper for him today. I’ve done enough already; both he and my dad keep asking for more and more that I just can’t give. 

I listen to Derek fall asleep and watch the digital clock tick closer and closer to 10pm. At 9:30, when Derek’s been snoring for over twenty minutes, I slip out of bed and take my bag to the attached bathroom so I can change into the dress I packed and put my makeup back on. 

I get ready quickly, spritzing my curls back to life and swiping on some mascara and lip gloss, then carry my shoes instead of putting them on. I turn the light off, check both ways before entering the hall, then tiptoe down the stairs. 

This is far from my first time sneaking out of this house. I know how light of a sleeper my dad is, and I know exactly where the floor creaks. I’m an expert at not getting caught, and though that should no longer worry me 22 years old - it does. 

I type in the door code to unlock the security system, then step into my shoes before hurrying to Derek’s car. I toss my purse in the passenger’s seat, type in the address for Post Underground, and finally make my escape. 

…

Half Alive is already on stage when I get there, and I’m barely at a table for thirty seconds when Jackson makes eye contact and flashes me the biggest smile I’ve ever seen - I have no choice but to return it. I feel lit up from the inside, completely alive now in comparison to how I felt at my dad’s house. 

I give him a wave and he nods at me, keeping steady eye contact throughout their set. He doesn’t stop looking at me for more than ten seconds at a time, and I don’t take my eyes off of him at all. I can’t. He looks so good up there, dressed in ripped jeans and a black, bleach-stained hoodie. His fingers move deftly across the guitar strings, and my entire body heats up as they finish their last song. The final note hasn’t even finished ringing throughout the space, and I’m up and out of my seat. 

He meets me in the hallway, waiting while leaning against the wall. “Hey, Harvard girl,” he says. “I knew you’d come.” 

I can’t help but smile at him. “You guys sounded good,” I say. 

“You like our stuff now?” he says, and out of nowhere, I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a big, tight hug. With his voice buried in my hair, he says, “You drove a long-ass way to see me. You hit anyone?” 

I laugh against his chest. “No, and I didn’t really. Me and…Derek are staying at my dad’s tonight. It’s not far from here.” 

“Derek, huh?” he asks. 

“I know,” I say. “I know, and I have a lot on my mind about that, and my dad, and just… everything. I don’t know up from down right now and I almost had a huge freakout today and I just needed to get away and come see you because I couldn’t handle being in that-” 

“Hey,” he says, caressing my cheek softly with the backs of his knuckles. “You good? You wanna go somewhere and talk?” 

“That’d be nice,” I say, relieved.

“They gave me a dressing room; this place is pretty nice,” he says. “Is that good?” 

“That’s perfect,” I say, and follow him down the hall. 

After we walk inside the small dressing room, he closes the door behind us and I see that there’s not much to it - there’s only a couch, a mirror, a chair, and a mini-fridge - but it’s not bad. 

“You’re celebrity status now,” I say. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says. “And cut that shit. I’m still nobody.” 

I sit down on the couch and bring my knees up to my chest, turning my head towards him as he sits beside me. “You’re too good to be nobody,” I say. 

“I knew you secretly thought I was good.” 

“I never said you weren’t good,” I say, smiling. 

“No, you just say ‘uh-oh’ like the little bear you are,” he says. 

I grin again, this time wider. “I’m surprised you remember that,” I say. “Being that you were concussed and all.” 

“Hard to forget,” he says, his eyes lingering on my lips. “That whole night is pretty hard to forget, little bear.” 

“For me, too,” I say. 

There’s a moment that passes where we just look at each other until he breaks it with a question. “What happened with your dad and your boyfriend?” he asks. “You must’ve been pretty upset if you left them for me.” 

“A night with you is better than…” I begin, then chew my cheek as I consider what I’m about to say. I’ve been thinking it all night, but it changes the entire game if I admit it out loud. “I just couldn’t be in that house anymore. They were both sleeping, but I couldn’t be around them. I didn’t even want to go there in the first place.” 

“You didn’t wanna see your folks?” 

I meet his eyes. Here’s the moment where I have to tell him about my mom and sister. The moment happens during every relationship I’ve ever had - romantic, platonic, or anywhere in between. It’s a defining moment for both myself and the other person because of how they react. 

“Just my dad. My mom died when I was nine, in a car accident with my sister. She didn’t make it, either.” 

“Damn,” Jackson says. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You must miss them.”

A lot of people don’t know what to say. Some go so far as to say something about ‘God’s plan,’ which I haven’t put much stock into since the accident happened. Some assure me that both Mom and Coco are watching over me from heaven, after just meeting me and never having met either of them. The fact that Jackson doesn’t overstep the boundaries of assumption, yet takes into consideration how I feel really means a lot to me. 

“Thanks,” I say. “I do.” I open my purse and take out the VHS tape. “I found this earlier, and I shouldn’t have taken it. It’s beyond repair, I know that, but if I throw it away at home, my dad’s going to notice. Do you mind if I toss it here?” 

Jackson’s eyes rest on the tape for a long while before he agrees, and I discard it in the small trash can by the mirror. I would’ve never been able to fix it, anyway, and this is saving me a lot of sneaking around at home trying to get it back into the photo box. 

“Why would it matter if your dad noticed?” Jackson asks. 

I take a moment to think about how to explain the strange relationship that me and my dad have, where to begin, and what to disclose. There are a lot of blurry lines when it comes to him and I, and I don’t talk about him often. There’s not a lot I can share.

“We don’t really get along,” I say. “After the accident, things changed. I didn’t wanna be home anymore because I felt like he didn’t want me there.”

“You really think that?” 

“I don’t know,” I say. “Sometimes, it’s like I don’t matter to him at all, and other times he micromanages my every move. Like at dinner, he pissed me off by asking me when me and Derek are gonna have kids. When! Not if, when.” 

Jackson’s eyebrows shoot up. “It sounds like you and this Derek guy are serious.” 

“We…” I trail off, unsure of how to fill in the blank. “We should be, I guess. We’ve been together for a while. My dad set us up because he knows Derek’s dad. Neither of us really had a say in it. And it just feels impossible to break it off with him because…” I shrug. “I don’t know.” 

“You’re scared of what your dad might do?” 

We lock eyes and it feels like he understands something much deeper than anything I’ve ever shared with anyone, something I won’t even let my thoughts linger on. I give him a small nod and he gives me one back, then reaches for my hand. I let him take it, then flip it over to intertwine over fingers. Holding hands with him, something so simple, makes me feel the best that I have all day. 

“My dad has this image in his head of who he wants me to be. He doesn’t even call me by my real name.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“My full name is April Noelle,” I say. “My mom named me after her, my grandma, and my great-grandma. But my dad claims that he never agreed, and he wanted to name me April May, a joke basically. So, that’s what he calls me.” 

A cloud passes over Jackson’s eyes. “That’s fucked up. Your name’s important. Plus, April Noelle is really pretty. It fits you.” 

I shine from the inside out when he says that. “Thank you,” I say, then stroke his knuckles with my thumb. “I’m sorry. I’ve talked about myself so much, and this night is supposed to be about you and how well you played. You really did do amazing, Jackson.” 

“Only ‘cause I saw you come in,” he says, then tucks a bit of hair behind my ears. “Then, it all mattered.” 

I lean in closer, smelling the sweat and faint cologne on him. My heart beats fast and my whole body tingles with something I can’t name, but I know what I want. “I’m going to break things off with Derek,” I say. “I am. You make me feel… you make me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

“Glad I’m not the only one,” he says. “You drive me crazy. I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

My chest lifts as I start breathing harder, and I squeeze his hand tight as I try to communicate my thoughts. “Me, neither,” I say, then take a deep breath for courage. “Jackson, I want you.” 

“Yeah?” 

I nod, and he closes the distance between us. When our lips come together, heat rushes to my core and I kiss him with fervor, parting my lips to slip my tongue into his mouth. Once his tongue touches my own, I hold his head with both hands and moan against his lips, feeling everything he’s capable of doing to me. 

He buries his hands deep in my curls and I tilt my head to the side, kissing him more sloppily as I move to straddle his hips. “Is this okay?” I breathe. 

“I need to make sure you want this,” he says, pulling his face away from mine. His pupils are dilated and his lips are kissed swollen, and I’ve never been more aroused in my life. 

“I want this,” I say. “So bad.” 

“Thank fuck,” he says.

I tear my dress off over my head and throw it to the other end of the couch. As I’m taking my underthings off, he does the same, and we meet again without an ounce of shyness between us. There are too many hormones flowing to think clearly, and the only thought I can concentrate on is how badly I want him inside me. 

“You’re so hot,” he says, positioned over me as I lie flat on the couch. He kisses my chest, stopping to pay attention to both nipples before coming back to my neck. “God, you’re so beautiful.” 

The space between my legs throbs with the need for friction, and I let him know as much by arching my back and undulating my hips against him, asking for it without words. I know he’s just as ready as I am, being that I saw his erection before he laid on top of me and I can now feel it pressed against my inner thigh. Impressive isn’t a good enough word to describe it. 

“Jackson,” I sigh, trailing my fingers down his back. “I want you to fuck me. I need it.” 

“Mmm, fuck. I need you, too,” he says, holding his dick while pushing slowly inside me. 

My eyes roll back as he kisses me hard, and I hold tight to the back of his head to keep him exactly where he is. He goes deeper than anything I’ve ever experienced, and when he starts to move, I see stars. I can’t help the sounds that escape me, everything from moans, to whimpers, to drawn-out, sated sighs. 

“Oh, god, that feels so good,” I say as he thrusts, hips scooping against mine. “You feel so good, Jackson, oh my god.” 

“You feel fucking amazing,” he says, mouth open right against my ear. 

I tighten my thighs around him and clench his body as tight as I can, then dig my fingernails into his back as he pushes even harder. With every forward movement of his hips, my voice hits a fever pitch, and I’d be surprised if everyone in the venue didn’t know exactly what was going on in here. But at the moment, I really don’t care. He’s making me feel too good to care about anything but his dick inside me. 

“I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna come,” I say in a hurry, my orgasm mounting before I have much of a say in the matter. When he pushes me over, I squeeze my eyes shut and let my mouth fall open in a silent scream, and he keeps pounding me until he has his own climax, hips jerking and bucking erratically against my own as he rides it out. I let him do something that I've never let anyone else do - I let him come inside me. And I love the way he feels. 

“Holy shit,” he says, after we’ve both come down. He relaxes his arms and collapses on top of my body, face in my sweaty neck, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders. I don’t want to let him go. 

“That was… amazing,” I breathe. “You’re amazing.” 

He chuckles, and I feel it more than I hear it. He kisses my jaw and finally pulls out, but I don’t let him go far. I can’t. I want him as close as possible. 

When he tries to roll off, just to lie next to me instead of directly on top of me, I don’t let him do that either. “No,” I say, pouting. “Stay.” 

He kisses me, strong and sure. “You’re so fucking cute,” he says. “Little koala bear now.” 

I wrap my legs around him for emphasis and, at the same time, wonder what the hell I’m doing. I said I’d break things off with Derek, I told Jackson that before we did this, and I meant it. But as of right now, Derek and I are still together. And I just had sex with another man. At the moment, I don’t recognize myself. 

But this new version of me, she’s happy. She’s all tangled up in a guy she really likes, and she’s not thinking of anyone else but herself and him. 

I think I like this new version of me a little better than the old one. 


	5. Chapter 5

**APRIL**

For a while, Jackson and I just lie together in silence. I can hear his heart beating right next to my own as I’m wrapped in his arms, our legs threaded together. As I stroke his ankle with the instep of my foot, I look at him through my eyelashes and can’t help but smile. 

“What,” he says, finger-combing my curls away from my face. “There. Now I can see those pretty eyes.” 

I blink shyly, flattening my hand over his side. My body feels amazing, reverberating with the orgasm he gave me. Somehow, it still lingers. “I feel so good,” I whisper. 

“Same here,” he says, continuing to pet my hair. 

“I was just thinking… trying to think of the last time that I had sex that good,” I say, drumming my fingers slowly against his ribcage. “And honestly, I don’t think I ever have.” 

He raises his eyebrows and says, “Really? Never?” Then, he chuckles. “Am I that good, or were your other partners that bad?” 

I laugh softly, sighing out a long breath. “Mix of both, I think.” 

“Probably leaning towards the first option, though.” 

I roll my eyes lightly, but agree. “Probably,” I say. 

“But what do they say about sex being like pizza?” he says. “Even if it’s bad, it’s still pizza.” 

“Well…” I say, then snort. “Then maybe you’ve never had bad pizza.” 

“Aw, come on,” he says, smirking. “What went so wrong with your pizza before this?” 

I give him a look. “We’re not talking about pizza anymore, are we?” 

The expression in his eyes says it all. I don’t need him to answer with words, so I just shake my head and watch him smile. 

“What was so bad about it?” he asks. “Did he nut too early? Give you dry oral, or something?” 

“Actually…” I say. “I’ve never… no one’s ever done that for me before.” 

“What, gone down on you without enough spit? It’s not pleasant, believe me.” 

“No, no,” I say, scoffing. “I mean… at all. Gone down on me at all.” 

His eyes widen. “Wait, for real?” I nod. “No one’s ever eaten you out?” I shake my head and he looks aghast. “You, this perfect body, and no one’s ever gone down on you. You have to be kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding, right now.” 

“I’m not,” I say. 

He props himself up on an elbow. “Alright, we have to change this,” he says, then looks at me. “You want me to change it?” 

I sit up, too, just a little. “You wanna… you wanna eat me out?” I ask, taken aback. It was never something that Derek offered, it’s never even been on the table. I thought it was a rare thing for guys to give. I hadn’t considered it out of the ordinary to have never experienced it. 

“Hell, yeah,” he says, then gauges what room we have. “I really wish we were on a bed, though, ‘cause this couch sucks.” 

“Yeah,” I say, pressing my knees together as he sits up fully. “Well, you don’t have to-” 

“No, I want to,” he says, then smiles. “Trust me, I want to. But we should get on the floor so you can lay flat. I want this to be good for you. Your first time should be amazing.” He cups my face with one hand and lets our lips linger as we kiss. Then, he says, “I’m gonna rock your world, bear.” 

A little self-conscious, I blush and lower onto the floor as he guides me there. The carpet is nice, soft and plush under my back, and even though I jumped into things headfirst with him before, I find myself flinching when he kisses my stomach. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” he says, taking my hand to thread our fingers together. “You want me to keep going, or stop?” 

“Keep going,” I whisper, then pull a throw pillow from the couch to prop up my head with. I want to be able to see what he’s doing. 

“Okay,” he says, then kisses my stomach again. He slowly moves lower, taking things at just the right speed, and strokes my outer thighs first. Goosebumps rise on my skin and I let out a long, shaky breath from my nose, whimpering a little as he massages my legs and allows the muscles to lose their tension. Once my legs fall apart and spread open, he looks at me with beautiful, half-lidded eyes and says, “There you go. Good girl.” 

When his mouth touches me for the first time - the part of my body that no mouth has ever touched - I gasp. I can’t help it. He takes his time and eases me into it, dropping slow, wet kisses over my lips and opening his mouth wide, slipping inside me with his tongue. 

“Oh,” I murmur, almost involuntarily. His tongue is inside me, and I’ve never felt anything like it.

“Feel good?” he asks, muffled. 

“Yeah,” I whine, placing one hand on top of his head. I scratch his scalp gently, urging him on with a small amount of pressure. 

“I thought so.” 

The sounds he makes down there are salacious and dirty - wet over anything. If I weren’t so turned on, I might be embarrassed. But embarrassment is nowhere in my mind as he keeps his tongue and jaw moving, finding just the right spot with his lips to suck slowly. 

“Oh, god,” I sigh, my breath trembling. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he says, voice low.

“Oh,  _ god _ ,” I moan. I have no idea how he knows just what to say. 

My hips start to move of their own accord, finding a rhythm against his face as he brings me closer and closer to an orgasm. He encourages the motion, too, reaching under to hold my ass tight in both hands, squeezing hard and edging me. 

“Jackson, mmm… I’m gonna…” 

“Come on, sweet girl,” he says, slipping two fingers inside to pump at a steady rhythm, the same pace at which his lips and tongue are moving. “You’re so wet. You’re almost there.” 

After that, he doesn’t speak anymore because he can’t. He buries himself in me, closing his eyes and moving faster, and I’m forced to close my eyes too - I can’t take the feeling. It’s too much, too amazing, all at once. I hold my breath when it happens, my hips jolting to knock against his chin; his mouth keeps moving as I climax, and afterwards, too. 

When I finally exhale, my heart pumps out of my chest and my entire body is hot. My core throbs and twitches, and I keep my legs wide open as I lie there and try to catch my breath. 

Jackson drops kisses between my legs - soft, gentle ones instead of languid like before. He blows a stream of cool air onto my hot skin and my muscles clench because of it, wanting more of him - somehow, still wanting more. 

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he says, moving to kiss me on the mouth. As he does, I taste myself, and I don’t hate it. “How do you feel?” 

I hold his head with both hands and kiss him hard, then skim my grip to his shoulders, his biceps, his sides, and eventually his hips. Without words, I try to tell him what I want by twining my legs around his waist and smiling against his lips, parting my own to kiss him with an open mouth. 

“That good, huh?” he says, and understands. In one fluid motion, he’s inside me again - but this time, we don’t rush. His thrusts are drawn-out and calculated, hitting a spot so deep within me that I can’t find words to say. 

He kisses me with fervor, linking our bodies in more than one place, and I wrap my arms around his neck to keep him close. My back scoots up the carpet as he moves - that is, until he gets a good grip around the lower part and shifts our position. He sits up, leaning against the couch, and places me on his lap to face forward. Now, I have the control and I plan on using it. 

With two hands braced on his shoulders, I grind on his lap and watch his eyes roll back. That only encourages me, so I keep up the motion while tucking my face into his neck, licking his dewy skin and loving the way his fingertips feel as they ghost across my spine. 

When I lift my head, he pushes on my shoulder blades to get me closer, ducking to put his mouth on my breasts. He sucks on my right nipple so hard that I can’t help but moan, digging my nails into his scalp to keep his head exactly where it is. He sinks his teeth in then pulls away, and when I look down I see that he’s left a blooming purple bruise on my areola. 

I smile while saying, “Ouch.” 

“You like it,” he says, grinning back at me. He grips two handfuls of my ass again and keeps my hips moving, his eyes turning playful as I push us both towards what we want. 

I rest my forehead on his shoulder and drape my arms over to rest on the couch cushions, working extra hard because of how close I am. I pant next to his ear, whimpering softly as he lifts his hips and helps me along, and when I finally start to feel my orgasm creeping in from the sides, he takes my head in his hands and lifts it up. 

“Hey,” he says. “Look at me. I wanna see your face when you come.” 

That undoes me. With my eyebrows tilted up in a desperate position, all my muscles go rigid before I turn into a throbbing mess on top of him. He kisses me, all teeth and tongue and lips, and keeps kissing me until he comes, too. 

Afterwards, I’m beyond spent. I stay on his lap as my heart rate returns to normal, my thighs spread wide over his, and bury my face in his neck. He keeps his arms wrapped around the small of my back and kisses my shoulder, letting his lips linger as the two of us breathe together. 

“Oh, my god,” I finally say. It’s all I can think  _ to  _ say. 

“Uh-huh,” he agrees. “Me, too.” 

My mind is cloudy. But instead of being filled with gray storm clouds, it’s filled with something more like cotton candy. I think I finally know what it feels like to have a crush. And I love it. 

I pick my head up to look into his eyes and realize that we’re still tangled - he’s literally still inside me. He realizes it at the same time, too. 

“You gonna let me up this time, koala bear?” 

“Yeah,” I say. “But don’t go far.” 

“Deal,” he says, and lifts me off so we finally separate. 

It’s a wet, sticky mess between my legs and on his lap, so he grabs some tissues and we clean ourselves up before getting comfortable on the couch. I slip my underwear back on, but that’s all I wear. That’s all he puts on, too. Then, we lie down to face each other and I’m satisfied again, so close to him. I throw my arm over his side and pull myself against his chest, and he keeps a strong grip around my lower back. He kisses my forehead and I close my eyes before opening them to look at his face, searching his eyes for something I’m not sure of. 

“What?” he says. 

“I don’t know,” I reply. “What are you thinking about?” 

He chuckles softly and traces my eyebrow with one finger. “You,” he says. 

I touch the tip of his nose with my own. “‘Cause my face is right on yours, or other reasons?” 

“Both,” he says. 

I giggle and drag my fingers over his skin slowly, and I can tell the motion comforts him. His muscles slacken a bit and he melts against me, and I really, really like that. 

“I wanna know more about you,” I say. “I feel like, whenever we’re together, I do all the talking. On and on and on about me, me, me. You must be so bored.” 

“Not at all.” 

“You’re too nice,” I say playfully. “Tell me about you.” 

He sighs, eyes moving as he figures out what to say. “I don’t know…” he begins. “There’s not really much to tell.” 

“That’s what everybody says,” I say. “But everyone has a story.” 

“Mine’s boring,” he says. “I’m a boring guy.”

“You are not,” I say firmly, then drum my fingers as I rack my brain. “Tell me about… I don’t know, tell me about your parents. What are they like?” 

“Third degree now, huh?” 

“No…” I say. 

“I’m just playing,” he says. “I’ll answer anything you got. But you’re just gonna find out that I actually am boring.” 

“You’re stalling…” 

“Fine. Alright. My parents… well, I never knew my dad. I was born out of an affair, he was married when my mom got pregnant, you know the story. Paid child support for 18 years and disappeared, basically.” 

“Did you ever meet him?” 

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I never wanted to. It was just me and my mom and we had a hard enough time as it was. I figured another parent would just make things complicated.” 

“So, you’re not close with your mom.” 

“Nah,” he says. “Never really was. I ran away a few times as a kid. I mean, I always came back. I just did it to piss her off, and it worked. She all but disowned me when I dropped out of high school to start the band.” 

“Do you ever see her anymore?” I ask. 

With the corners of his lips turned down, he shrugs. “Not really,” he says. “I move around a lot. That was how it was when I was a kid, too, so I guess I’m just used to it. Never really had anywhere that felt like home. That’s why this whole ‘on the road’ thing is good. I don’t have to stay in one place.” 

“I like you here, though,” I say. 

“I like it here, too,” he says. “Right now.” 

“I didn’t move around much, but I know what it’s like to have home not feel like home,” I say. “I have a hard time with that, too.” 

“Two wanderers, I guess,” Jackson mutters, holding the side of my face and leaning in for a kiss. 

I kiss him back with an open mouth, arching my back to press my stomach right against his. I feel him breathing - I can actually feel everything his body is doing. I’ve never been so close to someone in my life. I hardly know what to make of it - but my brain isn’t doing any of the processing right now. At the moment, that’s up to my heart and… other parts. 

I lose my breath kissing him. We make out for so long that his beard chafes my cheeks and my lips grow sore, and I’m turned on for the millionth time - the wet patch in my underwear making it plenty obvious - and I only come back to earth when I see sunlight pouring in through the slatted blinds. 

“Oh, god,” I say, pulling away as our lips make a wet, fumbling sound. “It’s morning.” 

“What?” he says, craning his neck to look. “Oh. Holy shit.” 

I sit up fully and search for my dress, but Jackson doesn’t move - which means his legs are strewn across my lap. “You’re not helping,” I say, grabbing his calf. “I have to go.”

He smiles slyly and sits up, pulling me against him before I have any say in the matter. “Stay,” he tells me. 

I melt all over again. “I can’t,” I whisper, one hand flat on his chest. He presses his lips to my cheek, the corner of my jaw, and the dip in my neck before I force myself to pull away. “Believe me, I really… really…” I let my eyes graze his body and a jolt passes through me. I lean in and kiss him for a long beat, my arms slung over his shoulders, before continuing my thought. “Really wanna stay. But I just can’t.” 

“I know,” he says, then tosses me my dress - it had been on his side of the couch. “Let me drive you home, at least.” 

I pull it on over my head and fluff my hair afterwards. “I took… um, I took Derek’s car here,” I say, a little awkwardly. “I have to bring it back.” 

“Right. Shit,” he says. “Alright. Well, at least let me walk you out.” 

The sun is just coming up as Jackson walks with me through the parking lot, and I resist the urge to take his hand. What felt right and warranted in a locked dressing room doesn’t feel quite so innocent in the blooming daylight. 

When we get to the car, I lean against the driver’s side and he boxes me in with his hand on the hood. “I wanna see you again,” he says. 

“I wanna see  _ you _ again,” I echo. 

“I’ll be around,” he says. “Not sure where or when right off the top of my head, but… I’ll be around.” 

“Okay,” I say. 

Then, he does just what I hoped he would. He presses his body against mine and kisses me goodbye, long and sweet. Before we can make a left turn from sweet, though, I push him gently away by the shoulders and peck him on the lips as I unlock unlocking the car. 

“I have to go,” I whisper. 

“Right. Yeah,” he says. 

“But I’ll see you soon. I had a…” I try to think of a word that will sum up the time I had with him tonight, but I can’t find anything that would do it justice. “I really like you, Jackson.” 

His face bursts into a smile I haven’t seen on him yet, and it makes my heart skip a beat. “I like you too,” he says. 

“I’ll call you.” 

“Not if I call you first,” he says, half-smiling. “Drive safe. Don’t hit anybody.” 

“That joke is old.” 

“Nahhh.” 

“Okay,” I say, then kiss him one more time for good measure. Then, one more time after that. “I gotta go. I really gotta go.” 

“You’ve been saying that.” 

“Well, I really do,” I say, lingering inside the open car door. 

“Alright,” he says, then turns to walk away. 

“Wait,” I say, grabbing him by the tail of his t-shirt. 

“What do you want now?” he says playfully. 

“Kiss me. Just one more time.” 

“Alright, alright,” he says, and cradles my jaw in his hands as the kiss lingers. I give him a hug at the same time, then let him go all at once. 

“Okay,” I say, finally getting in. “I’m really going now.” 

He walks backwards, making sure he can still see me as he heads back towards the building. “See you later, April Noelle,” he says. 

I press my hand to the window and start the car, waiting until he disappears from view to finally put my foot on the gas. 

…

On the way back to my dad’s place, I stop to buy coffee and doughnuts. I know my dad will already be awake, and this provides a valid reason as to why I’m out and about so early. 

As I walk in the front door, I’m glad to be one step ahead. Because I was right, my dad is already up and sitting in the kitchen with the newspaper. 

“Hey there,” he says, without looking up. “Where’ve you been?” 

I set the box of doughnuts and a carrier case of coffee on the table beside him. “I got some treats,” I say. 

I can tell my answer surprises him. He wanted to catch me in a lie, but he won’t get that satisfaction. Not today. 

“Oh,” he says, lifting the lid of the box. “That was nice.” 

“Mm-hmm!” I say, overcompensating with pep. “I’m gonna get Derek up.” 

“Wait a sec,” Dad says. “I wanna talk to you.” 

Instantly, my hands go cold and my stomach turns to lead. I’m frozen where I stand, sure that he must know what I went and did last night. I don’t know how, but he’s always been good at figuring things out. Especially when I try to hide them. 

“Sit down, April,” he says. “Be polite.” 

I obey him. I don’t have a choice; I never really do. 

“It’s about Derek,” he says. I wring my hands in my lap. I wring them so hard that my fingers ache - a habit I’ve had since childhood. Whenever my dad speaks to me and we’re alone like this, I make my fingers ache. “You care about him, right?” 

“Uh-huh,” I say, trying to hide my shaky voice. 

“I know you do. And I can tell he cares about you, too. He loves you, and you two are good together. You make a nice couple, and he’ll be a good husband someday.” 

I want to throw up. I’m in serious danger of doing so. My stomach is turning and my throat is constricted so tightly that I’m having a hard time breathing. 

“And all this matters to me, too. You’re my only daughter. It’s my job to make sure you get the best out of this life, and I think Derek can give you that. I want to talk to him about all this, too. And more. Which is why I’m going to take him to the cabin for a weekend, next weekend. Just us guys.” 

My skin remains clammy, but I can finally exhale. He doesn’t know about me and Jackson. This conversation isn’t about what I did last night. Thank god. 

But still, bringing Derek to the cabin doesn’t mean good things. At least, for me. I had planned on breaking things off with Derek as soon as possible, preferably as soon as we got back to Cambridge. But knowing that my dad has this trip planned makes things more difficult. The cabin means a lot to him. It’s been passed down on his side of the family for generations. He doesn’t take just anyone there.

He likes Derek. He wants me to marry Derek. That’s not what I want, but I’ve never been good at standing up for myself when it comes to my dad. It’s always gone unsaid that I should bend to his will, no matter what that will might be. And this instance is no different. 

So, I say, “Sure. That sounds good.” 

He smiles and pats me on the shoulder. “He might just come home ready to get down on one knee for you.” 

I force a smile. I’m sure it comes out horribly as I let out the fakest sounding laugh I’ve ever heard. “Yeah…” I say. “Well, I’m gonna go get him up now.” 

On the ride home, Derek and I don’t talk much. I try a few times to ask him if he’s alright - we didn’t go to bed on great terms the night before - and he promises that he is. When he acts this way, so standoffish, usually it just takes a few days for him to warm up again. Then, he’ll act like nothing ever happened. That’s what I’m used to. 

He’s excited about the cabin trip with my dad because he knows what it means. I do, too, which is why there’s a lump of dread sitting at the base of my throat. 

…

A week later, it hurts to pee. 

I notice at first in the middle of the night, but when I wake up the next morning, I convince myself that it must have been an unpleasant dream. That all changes when I sit down and notice spotting in my underwear - and I’m weeks away from my period. Still barely awake, I blink hard at the fabric and start to go, only to have it burn like it had overnight. My pelvis and stomach also ache in a way that I’ve never experienced, but I paid attention in health class. I know what all this means. 

Because I know what it means, I schedule an appointment at the clinic immediately. Hoping for the best but banking on the worst, I head there only to get diagnosed with an acute case of chlamydia. 

Derek and I use a condom every single time we sleep together, and I never let him come inside me. Ever. Jackson is the only male I’ve ever let go in unprotected. 

Jackson gave me chlamydia.

Leaving the clinic, I’m angrier than I’ve been in a long time. The nurse told me that it’s likely that whoever gave it to me wasn’t showing symptoms and probably didn’t even know, but that didn’t lessen my rage. She told me that he should get checked out just like I did and start taking the same antibiotics, and I could refer him to their clinic if I’d like. 

I’d like to do a lot of things; the first being asking him who the hell he’s sleeping with that gave him an STI that he then passed to me. 

I call him for the first time since we slept together, and he answers on the first ring. 

“Hey,” he says. “It’s been a-”

“Where are you staying?” I demand. I’m not in the mood for pleasantries. 

“Whoa,” he says. “Are you good?” 

“I need to know where you’re staying. I’m coming to see you.” 

“You miss me that bad? I miss you, too, but-” 

“Jackson. Tell me where you’re staying.” 

“I’m at the Marriott on Tremont,” he says. “Room 623. Are you coming over?” 

“Yes. I’ll be there in a half hour.” 

I drive from the clinic straight to his hotel, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. I shouldn’t be driving as fast as I am - I probably shouldn’t be behind the wheel at all, given my record - but I’m not going to discuss our sexual health over the phone. 

I make my way up to the sixth floor and knock on 623. He answers with a smile, but it fades as soon as he sees the expression I’m wearing. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

I storm inside the room and make sure the door is shut before I start talking. “You gave me chlamydia,” I spit. 

“Wait,” he says, shocked. “What?” 

I dig in my purse and pull out the giant bottle of antibiotics I was prescribed. I shake them and widen my eyes. “Chlamydia. I am infected. You infected me.” 

“No, no way,” he says. “I didn’t. I’m clean.” 

“I’m not having unprotected sex with anyone else, Jackson! Sorry to break it to you, but you have chlamydia.” 

“I don’t have any symptoms.” 

“Most of the time they don’t show. You need to get checked out. Who have you been sleeping with? Who gave it to you, so you could so kindly give it to me? Was it your lead singer, was it Jo?” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up,” he says, extending a flat palm in my direction. “You’re coming at me with so much right now. You can’t come in here and just attack me.” 

“Well, you gave me a disease. So, I think I have the right.” 

“I didn’t even know I had it!” he says. “I’m sorry you’re… infected. But I really didn’t know.” 

“You had to get it from someone,” I say. “So, who are you sleeping with?” 

He gives me a pointed look. “I don’t think you have the right to ask me that,” he says. “I know why you haven’t called all week.” 

That blow knocks me back, and shame takes over immediately. I don’t have time to think of a response before he speaks again. 

“You haven’t broken it off with Derek, have you?” 

I take a deep breath and let some of the tension out of my body as I sit on the end of the made-up, stiff hotel bed. I have to tell him the truth. He already knows, anyway. 

“No,” I say. 

“That’s what I thought.”

“And I'm sorry… I meant to. I swear, I did.” 

“Whatever, April,” he says, turning his back on me. He digs around in the bag that’s resting on the chair and turns around with something in his hand that I don’t recognize until he tosses it onto the bed next to me. It’s the VHS tape that I threw away in his dressing room, but the tape is no longer tangled and unwound. It looks perfectly fine; it looks brand new. “I fixed your tape. Just take it. I was gonna show you in this whole planned-out way, but I’m done with that shit. If you’re not gonna break things off with him, why are you even here?” 

I stare at the tape, then pick it up like it’s made of gold. He fixed it. It works. Once I play it, I can hear my mom and sister’s voices again - something I haven’t been able to do in over a decade. 

“You fixed it?” I say, in disbelief. 

“It wasn’t hard. I just Googled how to do it.” 

I smooth my hand over the surface, then turn it to the side to look at my mom’s cursive. ‘ _ April’s 2nd birthday’ _ ... it’s right here, in my hands. It’s a memory that I can hold. 

“Jackson…” I say, looking up to meet his eyes. “Thank you.” 

He shrugs and turns away. I know how this looks and how it must feel. He’s done so much for me by fixing this tape - he knows it’s important, but he doesn't know  _ how _ important. And here I am, still together with Derek, bursting into his hotel room with chlamydia after not calling him all week. Though it  _ was _ him who gave me chlamydia, but he didn’t know. I’m still upset about that, but the tape has overridden most of my bad feelings. 

I get up from the bed, leaving the tape safely there, and join him where he stands by the window. I wrap my arms around him from behind and he tenses when I touch him, which I had expected. He doesn’t push me away, though. 

I rest my cheek between his shoulder blades and blink slowly. “You have no idea what you did for me by fixing that,” I say. “And I’m sorry… I’m sorry I haven’t followed through. I was going to do it right away, right when I got back. But then my dad told me that he’s going to take Derek up to the cabin this weekend, and that cabin is so important to him. He only uses it for special occasions. He hinted that he’s going to tell Derek to propose to me.” 

Jackson turns around and dislodges my arms. “And you’re going to let him?” he asks. “Why wouldn’t you break up with Derek before that trip? This doesn’t make sense, April.” 

“I know…” I say, stuck. “I know. Just… I… things are… complicated when it comes to me and my dad.” 

He studies my face, lifting my chin with one finger. When I finally meet his eyes, he asks, “Why are you so scared of him? What did he do to you?” 

I hear my breath come faster before I feel it. My eyes well up with tears and Jackson notices, his face softening as he pulls me into a tight, safe hug. 

“I’m sorry,” I whimper. 

“Hey,” he says, speaking into my hair after he kisses it. “I got you. You can tell me.” 

I close my eyes and my body trembles, rattling against his chest. I shake my head, pressing my lips together to try and quell what all wants to come out. “I can’t,” I whisper, holding his waist tight. I don’t want to let go. I might drift away if I do. “I can’t.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for my long hiatus yall. cant promise my updates will be regular from here on out, but a beatch can try

**APRIL**

I’m nine years old and sitting on the green couch in the living room. Scooted all the way to the back, my feet don’t even touch the ground. I’m alone in the room, staring out the window that shows both the driveway and the street. I’m waiting for Mom’s van. 

I haven’t seen her and Coco in days. According to my calendar upstairs, the one that I cross squares off of each morning, it’s been three. 

They left for the mall to get me something for my birthday. I’m turning ten in a week. Mom didn’t say that’s what they were going to do, but Coco is not good at keeping secrets. Also, I would have been invited along if they hadn’t been on a secret mission to get me a present. 

When they didn’t come home that first night, it was weird. I asked my dad and he didn’t give me a straight answer. The second day, I thought about calling someone - I didn’t know who, but someone - but I never worked up the courage. Now, on the third day, I know something is wrong. It has to be. They’ve never been gone this long before.

That thought is only perpetuated when my dad walks into the room, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pockets. I look up at him with wide eyes and wait for him to speak. I’m scared of what he’ll say, but I need him to say something. 

“Daddy,” I say, after he sits down across from me and spends a few long minutes not saying anything. “Where’s Mommy and Coco?” 

He lifts his eyes from the carpet to look at me. “April May,” he says. “There’s something I have to tell you.” 

My hands go clammy. I intertwine my fingers and squeeze them tight, watching his face with unblinking eyes. His expression doesn’t look good. His eyebrows are low and his lips are set in a thin, straight line. 

“Your mom and Coco left, honey,” he says. He sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees, looking me dead in the face. “They took the van, drove away, and left us.” 

I blink hard and try to understand his words. That doesn’t make sense. It can’t be true. They would never do that. They love me. Both Mom and Coco, they love me. They wouldn’t leave me. 

But why would my dad lie, especially about something like this? That doesn’t make sense, either. 

So all I can do is ask, “Why?” 

He lets out a long, loud sigh. “I don’t know, honey. Sometimes, people do cruel things.” 

My eyes sting with the onset of tears. I can’t stop twisting and turning my hands. “Where did they go?” I whimper. 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just got a call from a payphone. They don’t wanna be found. Your mom said she didn’t want either of us to contact them. Said they were better off without us.” 

Tears slide down my cheeks. I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them, rocking back and forth as I sniffle and cry. “No, Daddy,” I say. “Mommy didn’t. She didn’t say that.” 

“She did, hon, and I’m sorry. But I’m here, right?”

My chin trembles. “I want Mom,” I sob. 

“Well, you got me,” he says. “She left. I didn’t.” 

I press my forehead to my knees and hide my face, holding myself tighter. I don’t want to look at him; I can’t. I can’t believe the truth he’s telling, but I don’t know why he’d lie. 

He stands up. I hear him without lifting my head. “Don’t turn on the TV,” he says. “I don’t want you watching crap right now.” 

My shoulders tremble as I try to keep quiet. 

“You got it?” he barks. 

I nod and hope that he sees. I can’t force any words out. It must be enough, because he leaves the room, and leaves me alone to cry. 

I stay in the living room until it gets dark. After a while, it gets dark enough that all I see is my own reflection in the bay window, nothing more of the street or the driveway. I keep my eyes out, though, hoping that a pair of headlights will pull up to our house and my mom and sister will come running out, either back to join us or to come save me. I know they didn’t mean to leave me. 

Once Dad brings his beer down to the basement, I do what he told me not to and turn on the TV. I only want to watch cartoons, but the channel that the screen turns onto is the news - and it catches my attention. 

“...the van was discovered at around 2pm this afternoon. A hiker was walking through Beech Forest and discovered the vehicle, thinking it was abandoned. Unfortunately, he also discovered the bodies of a woman and her teenage daughter, the identities of whom have yet to be determined.” 

The camera pans to the van and my entire body goes cold. I know it’s our van because it’s silver and it has the right shape, but if I wasn’t sure before, it has the ‘Proud Parent of Brookline District Honor Students’ and ‘I Sing and I Vote’ bumper stickers. Those both belong to my mom. 

I jump up from the couch, then freeze in place. They’re not missing. They’re dead. The news lady just said the hiker found  _ bodies _ , not people. I know what that means. You only call someone a ‘body’ after that body isn’t alive anymore. 

“Dad!” I shout, running to the basement and hurtling myself down the stairs two at a time. I’m out of breath by the time I reach him. “Dad,” I say, crying now. “Dad, Mommy and Coco are dead. They got in a car crash and they’re dead. I just saw on the news.” 

He swallows a mouthful of beer and looks me straight in the eye. “The news?” he says, his tone flat. “I thought I told you to keep that TV off.” 

“You did, but I wanted to watch cartoons, and-” 

Suddenly, it dawns on me. Did he want me to keep the TV off because he knew I’d see something about the crash? That can’t be true. Can it? 

“Daddy, did you already know that they died?” I ask.

He stands up after setting down his beer. “April, when did I teach you to question what I do?” he says. It’s not really a question, and I know better than to answer. 

I stand my ground, though. I want to step back, but I don’t. I make myself stay planted exactly where I am. 

“Mom and Colette ran away. That’s the end of it. They took the van, didn’t tell us where they were going, and left. They left you and me here on purpose. They deserved what they got. They deserved that crash.” 

My whole body starts trembling, from my fingertips to my knees. My breath comes out as a shaky exhale, and my face is red and hot. 

“Liar,” I say through clenched teeth. 

“What did you call me?” 

“I said, liar! You’re lying.” 

It happens before I can fully realize what’s going on. I don’t see him wind back, but I definitely feel the impact when his hand makes contact with my cheek. He slaps me so hard that I fall to the floor, a crumpled heap before him. 

After that, I never talked back to him again. 

…

Then I’m 22, standing by the window in the hotel room with Jackson’s arms wrapped around me. I’m still shaking - but this time, it’s from the aftershocks of that memory. 

“April,” he says, cupping my chin. “You can. You can tell me anything.” 

I close my eyes for a long beat, tears slipping out of them. I turn away, wipe my cheeks, and shake my head. “No,” I say softly. 

I know he wants to help me. I know he’d listen. It’s not that I’m scared to tell him, but I just can’t. The words have never passed my lips before, and I don’t want them to. 

“Okay,” he says softly, stroking my hair. “I want you to be okay… what if… what if we watched the tape? Would that make you feel better?” 

I take a long breath in and try to center myself. It takes a lot to come back when my brain shoots me back to the past. Sometimes, I don’t feel like myself for days. 

But I want to see this video. 

“Yeah,” I say. 

“You wanna watch it alone? I can give you a-”

“No,” I say, one hand on his wrist. “Stay.” 

When he slides the tape into the hotel TV’s VCR, the screen crackles to life. The first thing I hear is the sound of my mom’s voice. 

_ “Coco, April, say hi to the camera!”  _

_ I’m sitting in a high chair wearing a pink, pointed birthday hat. The string is tight around my chin, making my already-chubby cheeks bulge, and the look on my face is more wide-eyed and stunned than it is happy.  _

_ “Smile,” Coco encourages. _

My sister. My sister’s voice. I haven’t heard it since I was nine years old, but hearing it now… it’s like no time has passed at all. Tears spring to my eyes as I realize just how much I’ve missed her. 

_ “How old are you today, April?” Mom asks, bringing the camera closer to me.  _

_ I hold up one hand, all five fingers spread out. “I two,” I say, then glance at Coco, who’s still smiling.  _

_ “Good job!” she says to me.  _

_ “We got you a special cake. Chocolate, your favorite,” Mom says.  _

_ “Cake!” I say - baby me. I bang my hands up and down on my high chair tray and grin as the cake comes into view, two candles lit.  _

_ “She’s smiling now ‘cause she sees the cake!” Coco laughs.  _

_ “Should we sing?”  _

_ My sister nods and they start in. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear baby, happy birthday to you.”  _

_ “Okay, April, blow out the candles!” Coco says.  _

_ I blink at her, unsure of what to do next.  _

_ “Like this,” she says, and shows me by blowing one out - just one. “Now, you try.”  _

_ With a concentrated expression, I crinkle my eyebrows and press my lips together, spittily blowing the other candle until the flame is gone.  _

_ “Yay, yay April!” Mom cheers.  _

_ I stick my hand in the cake and pull out a frosting-covered candle, then offer it to Coco with a smile. She grins back and takes it from me, thanking me after.  _

_ “Happy birthday, little fish,” she says, then plants a big kiss on my cheek.  _

_ “We love you!” Mom says from behind the lens. “See you next time. Wave bye-bye, girls!”  _

_ Both of us look at the camera. Coco waves on her own and then takes one of my hands to help me do the same.  _

Then, the tape fades and the screen turns black. Jackson and I sit there in silence for a few minutes as I soak everything in, and I’m not sure what to say. There’s so much on my mind, and I don’t know where to begin. 

I bend forward, elbows on my knees, and hold my head. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Again.” 

“Of course,” he says softly. “‘Little fish’? Was that your nickname?” 

I lift my head and turn to look in his eyes. I shrug sadly, lower lip quivering as I do. “I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t remember.” 

“Yeah,” he says, taking my hand cautiously. I let him comfort me as he strokes my knuckles. 

“Seeing me and her together like that… and hearing my mom,” I say, clearing my throat to stop my voice from cracking. “It makes me… I don’t know. It’s not like I didn’t miss them before. But now, seeing what my family could’ve been like if they hadn’t…” I blink hard to will away tears and stare at mine and Jackson’s hands. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t have to know. It’s a lot. I get it.” 

I rest my head on his shoulder and he wraps an arm around me. “I know you get it,” I say. “Thank you for being here with me, and fixing the tape.” I pick my head up and look right at him. “You make me feel safe.” 

I cup his jaw in my hands and slowly close the distance between us. We kiss - not hot and heavy, but raw and sweet. Tears roll down my face as I hug his neck, and when we pull apart, I see the residue from them shining on his cheeks. I wipe the moisture away with the pads of my thumbs and lean in to rest my forehead against his, closing my eyes while listening to him breathe. 

“I wanna be with you,” I say. “You, Jackson.” 

He nods, head moving against mine. “Me, too,” he says. “But you know what you have to do so we can.” 

“I know,” I say. “I will. Tonight, I’ll tell him it’s over.” 

…

I show up at Derek’s house at about the same time he gets home from being at the cabin with my dad. When I knock on the door, he’s in the middle of taking his shoes off and hanging up his coat. 

“Oh, hey!” he says. “I was just about to text you.” 

I give him a weak smile. “I thought you’d be just getting home,” I say. 

“I missed you!” he says, then wraps his arms around my middle and picks me up from the floor. I push on his shoulders to be let down, but he gives me a big squeeze before doing so. “Me and your dad had a great time. The weekend really flew by. We fit a ton of stuff in, though. Mostly because he wakes up at the crack of dawn. We were out on the lake by like, 6am both days. It was crazy. But so nice. Really woke up my senses, and it was cool getting to know him a little better. How come you never told me how great of a guy he is?” 

“Well…” 

“I guess it’s harder to see that about your parents without an outside perspective. But you really hit the jackpot with him, babe. He was talking to me about how he’d love to see me join your guys’ family someday. By the way he was talking, it sounds like he wants it to be someday soon. It kinda freaked me out at first, but then I got to thinking. We’ve already been together for so long, it’s basically like we’re married anyway. Or at least engaged. Nothing’s really stopping us.” 

I don’t respond. 

That prompts him to say, “Right?” 

“I don’t know,” I say. “You’re talking really fast.” 

“Sorry, I know. It was just a great weekend. A guys’ weekend, you know? Me and him both kept saying how we wished we’d done it sooner. We really got along, babe, I’m telling you.” 

“That’s… that’s good,” I say. “Listen, Derek, I need to talk to you about something serious.” 

“Can we talk upstairs? I was in the car forever. I gotta shower.” 

I sigh and say, “Sure.” 

I follow him up the stairs and wait on his bed while he showers. Usually, he’s not in there for very long, but today it seems to drag on forever. 

When he comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist, I stand up from the bed. 

“No, sit,” he says. “I’ll come to you.” 

He sits beside me, hair still dripping, and leans in to kiss me. I let him, but only for a moment before I pull away. “We really do need to talk,” I say. 

He runs his hands down my chest and undoes the first couple buttons of my shirt dress, exposing my chest and my bra. As he lowers his head to kiss my neck, I push him away with a little more force than I meant to and he looks at me with a stunned expression while wiping his mouth. 

“Damn, okay,” he says, wounded. “I get it. I just missed you.” 

He scans the skin of mine that he made bare and his eyes catch on my chest. He stares for a long beat, so long that I look to see what he’s seeing. I lower my chin and notice it - the hickey on my breast that Jackson gave me. Right there, out in the open, exposed by the way he’d shifted my bra. It’s green and yellowish now instead of purple, but still very obvious. 

“What’s that?” he says, and goes to move the cup of my bra away. “Is that a hickey?” 

I swat his wrist and cover myself back up, hurriedly buttoning up my dress. “No,” I say. “How would I even get a hickey? I caught my skin while I was zipping up a jacket.” 

He looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Zipping up a jacket with no shirt or bra on underneath? That’s weird.” 

“I was doing laundry. I needed something to throw on. It pinched my skin and left a bruise, that’s all.” 

He stays quiet for a few beats, absorbing what I’ve said until he finally buys it. “How about I kiss it and make it better,” he says, sliding a hand up my thigh. 

Never mind the fact that having sex with him is the last thing I want to do - it’s also impossible. I have chlamydia, and no matter how disdainful I am of Derek, I’m not going to spread it to him. 

“No, it’s okay,” I say, crossing my legs and effectively dislodging his hand from where it had been inching up towards my crotch. 

“I missed you, though,” he says, kissing the corner of my jaw below my ear. “And I wanna see you naked.” 

“I promise, nothing’s changed,” I say, staring at the ceiling. 

I need to break up with him, but I don’t know how. When we’re apart, it seems so easy. But when we’re together, it’s next to impossible. The words are like wet cement in my throat.

“If you jerked me off right now, I’d be so happy,” he says. 

“If you don’t stop asking me, I’m gonna leave,” I say. “I need to talk to you. I didn’t come here to have sex.” 

“Damn, alright. Fine,” he says. “So, talk. Your dad was telling me how you’ve been a chatterbox your whole life and I was like… I know.” He laughs. “So, chatter then.”

I open my mouth to say it. To tell him we need to break up, I don’t love him and I never did. My lips part and a small sound comes out, but I can’t form words. The only thing present in my head is the thought of my dad and everything that he told Derek this weekend. Everything he wants for me and Derek in the future. Everything he has banking on the fact that we’ll get married. He wants to make the choice for me. If I don’t let him do it, I’ll suffer the consequences in the same way that I always have. 

I close my mouth. I let my shoulders deflate and can practically feel the stinging sensation on my cheek - the right one, the one he’d always slap first. And I can’t do it. 

“Nothing,” I say, then lie flat on the mattress. “It doesn’t matter now.” 

…

The next evening, I’m in the car with Derek as we head back to the townhome that I share with Amelia. He pulls into the driveway and waits for me to grab my backpack, then leans out the driver’s side window for a kiss. Out of habit, I bend my knees and give him my cheek so he can press his lips to it. 

“See ya later,” he says. “Tell my sister I said hi.” 

“Alright, I will. See you.” 

I watch his car pull out and drive away. When it fades from view and I bring my gaze back to the street, I see a car parked on the curb that I don’t recognize. But while I don’t recognize the model of the car, I definitely recognize the person inside it. Jackson. 

Instantly, my heart drops. His eyes don’t waver from my face, and I know without question that he just saw everything. I ditch my backpack in the yard and hurry to the curb where he’s parked, and he turns the car on as soon as I get close. For a split second, I think he might hit me just like I did him. But he doesn’t. Thank god. 

I try to open the passenger’s side door, but it’s locked. When I meet his eyes and gesture for him to unlock it, he makes no move to do so. In fact, he doesn’t move at all. 

“Jackson,” I say, jiggling the handle again. It’s not budging, though, and neither is he. 

I concede and hurry around to the driver’s side window, which is luckily already rolled down. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” I say. “I swear, Jackson, you-” 

“No, I get it,” he says, gripping the steering wheel tight. 

“You don’t, though,” I say. “I tried to tell him last night. I really did. It just wouldn’t… I couldn’t do it.” 

He gives me a hard stare. 

“I don’t have feelings for him like I do for you,” I say. 

“Well, you have a funny way of showing those feelings,” he says. “Does Derek know you gave him chlamydia?” 

“We didn’t have sex,” I say firmly. “I didn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.” 

“But you’d spend the night with him, though,” he says. “And kiss him goodbye.” He shakes his head and scoffs. “I don’t even know why I’m fuckin’ here. I was gonna come surprise you, and…” He laughs humorlessly. “Turns out I was the one surprised! Joke’s on me. I’m a fucking idiot.” 

“No, Jackson, you’re not,” I say. “I promise, you’re not. I’m going to break up with him. I am. I just need-”

“What, time? You need time?” he says. “You’ve had time. You’ve had nothing  _ but _ time. I’m starting to think you’re just stringing me along for the fun of it. Are you trying to get back at him? Did he cheat on you first, or something?” He rolls his eyes. “Whatever’s going on, I’m done. I’m done being a part of it.” 

He shifts the car into drive and I grip the window tighter. “Please, don’t go,” I say. “I can explain. I can explain better than this..” 

“Keep it to yourself,” he says. “I don’t give a fuck anymore.” 

“Jackson, I-” 

Before I can finish my sentence, he speeds off - leaving a cloud of exhaust in his wake. I stand in the place that his car vacated and stare at him as he leaves, wondering if I’ll ever do anything right. 

…

When I go back inside, I slip up to my room without grabbing Amelia’s attention. I don’t need her in my ear right now. I open Facebook and ignore texts from both Steph and Izzie, curling up on my bed as I look for the Events page. 

I scroll through until I find what I’m looking for. Tonight, at The Asgard, Half Alive is playing at 9pm. There’s an option to RSVP to the event, so I click ‘Going’ and head to my closet right away. There’s no way I can miss this. I can’t let him go that easily. 

In order for Jackson to understand why it’s not easy for me to cut Derek off, he has to know the backstory of what things are like with my dad.

If I weren’t so afraid of my dad, this would be different. Everything would be different.  _ I _ would be different, and I wish so badly that I was. 

I throw on tights and a sweater dress, rejuvenate my curls, and put on a quick layer of mascara and lip color. It’ll only take about ten minutes to get there, but I want to show up before the band goes on stage. That way, he can’t ignore me. 

Behind the wheel, I try to keep myself calm. I don’t want any incidents happening like the last time I was stressed and driving. As I get closer to the venue, I tell myself that I can be upfront and honest with Jackson about why I haven’t broken things off with Derek. I’m strong enough. Maybe I am capable of telling him the whole story. I don’t think he’d judge me or look at me differently. I can do it. As long as I can get him alone and he’ll hear me out, I can do it. 

I park my car and head into the club, tucking my hair as I do. I push open the door and step onto the sticky floor, noticing that it’s still quiet in here. 

“We’re not open yet, miss,” someone says from behind the bar.

“Oh, I… I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m looking for someone. One of the band members from Half Alive? I’m a… I’m a friend.” 

The guy nods towards a hallway. “They’re still in the back,” he says. 

“Thanks.” 

With my purse clutched close to my chest, I hurry down the hall towards the sound of voices. My stomach jumps when I hear Jackson’s in the midst of the rest.

The voices are coming from the lounge, and when I peer around the corner to look inside, I don’t see him at first. I scan the room, coming across Alex and a few other guys that I recognize, but I don’t see Jackson until the very last second. The last second, when he sees me too. 

The reason I don’t see him is because his body is being shrouded by the lead singer - Jo. She’s on top of him, straddling his hips, sitting on his lap. He’s got his arms wrapped around her, hands resting on the small of her back, his grip spanning down to her ass as he yanks her closer. 

He and I lock eyes just as he and Jo are pulling out of a kiss. When he notices me, he grabs the back of her head and draws her in again, kissing the life out of her with an open mouth while keeping his eyes open to stare at me. 

My heart stops, then drops into my stomach. I’m frozen, standing there watching him make out with someone he promised me I had nothing to worry about. Just like I’d done to him. 

Except this girl gave me chlamydia. 

Rage boils in my gut, mixing with humiliation to create something that’s hot and bubbling. My chest heaves as I take labored breaths, and my hands turn to fists at my side, clenched to the point of pain. 

The last thing I ever want to be is violent. My worst fear is turning into my father. 

But seeing Jo on top of Jackson makes my rationale fly out the window. I stomp into the lounge, both hands raised, ready to yank Jo’s hair back and land a punch. 


End file.
